m 

A 


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THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

Mother 

Poor,  Dear  Margaret  Kirby 
Saturday  s  Child 

The  Treasure 
The  Rich  Mrs.  Burgoyne 


"IT  HAS  NEVER  OCCURRED 
TO  ONE  OF  YOU  TO  ASK  WH  Y 
I  AM  DIFFERENT  FROM 
OTHER  WOMEN  — TO  ASK 
JUST  WHAT  MADE  ME  SOI" 


THE  STORY  OF 

JULIA  PAGE 


BY  KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

AUTHOR  OF 


ETC. 


Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
KATHLEEN  NORRIS 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages \ 

including  the  Scandinavian 


COPYRIGHT,    1914,   1915,  THB   PICTORIAL   REVIEW  COMPANY 


HA  i/O 


TO  MY  LITTLE  SISTER 
MARGARET  ALDEN  HARTIGAN 


33381 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


The  Story  of  Julia  Page 


CHAPTER  I 

To  EMELINE,  wife  of  George  Page,  there  came  slowly, 
in  her  thirtieth  year,  a  sullen  conviction  that  life  was 
monstrously  unfair.  From  a  resentful  realization  that 
she  was  not  happy  in  her  marriage,  Emeline's  mind 
went  back  to  the  days  of  her  pert,  precocious  childhood 
and  her  restless  and  discontented  girlhood,  and  she 
felt,  with  a  sort  of  smouldering  fury,  that  she  had  never 
been  happy,  had  never  had  a  fair  chance,  at  all! 

It  took  Mrs.  Page  some  years  to  come  to  this  conclu 
sion,  for,  if  she  was  shrewd  and  sharp  among  the  women 
she  knew,  she  was,  in  essential  things,  an  unintelligent 
woman,  and  mental  effort  of  any  sort  was  strange  to 
her.  Throughout  her  entire  life,  her  mind  had  never 
been  truly  awakened.  She  had  scrambled  through 
Grammar  School,  and  had  followed  it  with  five  years  as 
saleswoman  in  a  millinery  store,  in  that  district  of  San 
Francisco  known  as  the  Mission,  marrying  George 
Page  at  twenty-three,  and  up  to  that  time  well  enough 
pleased  with  herself  and  her  life. 

But  that  was  eight  years  ago.  Now  Emeline  could 
see  that  she  had  reached — more,  she  had  passed — her 
prime.  She  began  to  see  that  the  moods  of  those  early 
years,  however  violent  and  changing,  had  been  fed  upon 
secret  springs  of  hope,  hope  vague  and  baseless  enough, 
but  strong  to  colour  a  girl's  life  with  all  the  brightness  of 
a  thousand  dawns.  There  had  been  rare  potentialities 
in  those  days,  anything  might  happen,  something  would 
happen.  The  little  Emeline  Cox,  moving  between  the 


4  THE-  STORY  OP  JULIA  PAGE 

dreary  discomfort  of  home  and  the  hated  routine  of 
school,  might  surprise  all  these  dull  seniors  and  school 
mates  some  day!  She  might  become  an  actress,  she 
might  become  a  great  singer,  she  might  make  a  brilliant 
marriage. 

As  she  grew  older  and  grew  prettier,  these  vague, 
bright  dreams  strengthened.  Emeline's  mother  was 
an  overworked  and  shrill-voiced  woman,  whose  person 
ality  drove  from  the  Shotwell  Street  house  whatever 
small  comfort  poverty  and  overcrowding  and  dirt  left 
in  it.  She  had  no  personal  message  for  Emeline.  The 
older  woman  had  never  learned  the  care  of  herself, 
her  children,  her  husband,  or  her  house.  She  had 
naturally  nothing  to  teach  her  daughter.  Emeline's 
father  occasionally  thundered  a  furious  warning  to  his 
daughters  as  to  certain  primitive  moral  laws.  He  did 
not  tell  Emeline  and  her  sisters  why  they  might  some 
day  consent  to  abandon  the  path  of  virtue,  nor  when, 
nor  how.  He  never  dreamed  of  winning  their  affection 
and  confidence,  or  of  selecting  their  friends,  and  making 
home  a  place  to  which  these  friends  might  occasionally 
come.  But  he  was  fond  of  shouting,  when  Emeline, 
May,  or  Stella  pinned  on  their  flimsy  little  hats  for  an 
evening  walk,  that  if  ever  a  girl  of  his  made  a  fool  of 
herself  and  got  into  trouble,  she  need  never  come  near 
his  door  again!  Perhaps  Emeline  and  May  and  Stella 
felt  that  the  virtuous  course,  as  exemplified  by  their 
parents,  was  not  all  of  roses,  either,  but  they  never  said 
so,  and  always  shuddered  dutifully  at  the  paternal 
warning. 

School  also  failed  with  the  education  of  the  inner 
Emeline,  although  she  moved  successfully  from  a  process 
known  as  "diagramming"  sentences  to  a  serious  lit 
erary  analysis  of  "Snow-Bound"  and  "Evangeline," 
and  passed  terrifying  examinations  in  ancient  history, 
geography,  and  advanced  problems  in  arithmetic.  By 
the  time  she  left  school  she  was  a  tall,  giggling,  black- 
eyed  creature,  to  be  found  walking  up  and  down  Mis 
sion  Street,  and  gossiping  and  chewing  gum  on  almost 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  5 

any  sunny  afternoon.  Between  her  mother's  whining 
and  her  father's  bullying,  home  life  was  not  very  pleas 
ant,  but  at  least  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  the  sit 
uation;  among  all  the  girls  that  Emeline  knew  there  was 
not  one  who  could  go  back  to  a  clean  room,  a  hospitable 
dining-room,  a  well-cooked  and  nourishing  meal.  All 
her  friends  did  as  she  did:  wheedled  money  for  new  veils 
and  new  shoes  from  their  fathers,  helped  their  mothers 
reluctantly  and  scornfully  when  they  must,  slipped  away 
to  the  street  as  often  as  possible,  and  when  they  were 
at  home,  added  their  complaints  and  protests  to  the 
general  unpleasantness. 

Had  there  been  anything  different  before  her  eyes, 
who  knows  what  plans  for  domestic  reform  might  have 
taken  shape  in  the  girl's  plastic  brain?  Emeline  had 
never  seen  one  example  of  real  affection  and  cooperation 
between  mother  and  daughters,  of  work  quickly  and 
skilfully  done  and  forgotten,  of  a  clean  bright  house 
and  a  blossoming  garden;  she  had  never  heard  a  theory 
otherwise  than  that  she  was  poor,  her  friends  were  poor, 
her  parents  were  poor,  and  that  born  under  the  wheels 
of  a  monstrous  social  injustice,  she  might  just  as  well 
be  dirty  and  discouraged  and  discontented  at  once  and 
have  done  with  it,  for  in  the  end  she  must  be  so.  Why 
should  she  question  the  abiding  belief?  Emeline  knew 
that,  with  her  father's  good  pay  and  the  excellent  sal 
aries  earned  by  her  hard-handed,  patient-eyed,  stupid 
young  brothers,  the  family  income  ran  well  up  toward 
three  hundred  dollars  a  month:  her  father  worked 
steadily  at  five  dollars  a  day,  George  was  a  roofer's  as 
sistant  and  earned  eighty  dollars  a  month,  and  Chester 
worked  in  a  plumber's  shop,  and  at  eighteen  was  paid 
sixty-five  dollars.  Emeline  could  only  conclude  that 
three  hundred  dollars  a  month  was  insufficient  to  pre 
vent  dirt,  crowding,  scolding,  miserable  meals,  and  an 
incessant  atmosphere  of  warm  soapsuds. 

Presently  she  outraged  her  father  by  going  into 
"Delphine's"  millinery  store.  Delphine  was  really  a 
stout,  bleached  woman  named  Lizzie  Clarke,  whose 


6  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

reputation  was  not  quite  good,  although  nobody  knew 
anything  definite  against  her.  She  had  a  double  store 
on  Market  Street  near  Eleventh,  a  dreary  place,  with 
dusty  models  in  the  windows,  torn  Nottingham  curtains 
draped  behind  them,  and  "Delphine"  scrawled  in  gold 
across  the  dusty  windows  in  front.  Emeline  used  to  won 
der,  in  the  days  when  she  and  her  giggling  associates 
passed  "Delphine's"  window,  who  ever  bought  the 
dreadful  hats  in  the  left-hand  window,  although  they  ad 
mitted  a  certain  attraction  on  the  right.  Here  would  be 
a  sign:  "Any  Hat  in  this  Window,  Two  Dollars,"  sur 
rounded  by  cheap,  dust-grained  felts,  gaudily  trimmed, 
or  coarse  straws  wreathed  with  cotton  flowers.  Once 
or  twice  Emeline  and  her  friends  went  in,  and  one  day 
when  a  card  in  the  window  informed  the  passers-by  that 
an  experienced  saleslady  was  wanted,  the  girl,  sick  of 
the  situation  at  home  and  longing  for  novelty,  boldly 
applied  for  the  position.  Miss  Clarke  engaged  her  at 
once. 

Emeline  met,  as  she  had  expected,  a  storm  at  home, 
but  she  weathered  it,  and  kept  her  position.  It  was 
hard  work,  and  poorly  paid,  but  the  girl's  dreams  gilded 
everything,  and  she  loved  the  excitement  of  making 
sales,  came  eagerly  to  the  gossip  and  joking  of  her 
fellow-workers  every  morning,  and  really  felt  herself 
to  be  in  the  current  of  life  at  last. 

Miss  Clarke  was  no  better  than  her  reputation,  and 
would  have  willingly  helped  her  young  saleswoman 
into  a  different  sort  of  life.  But  Emeline's  little  streak 
of  shrewd  selfishness  saved  her.  Emeline  indulged  in  a 
hundred  little  coarsenesses  and  indiscretions,  but  take 
the  final  step  toward  ruin  she  would  not.  Nobody  was 
going  to  get  the  better  of  her,  she  boasted.  She  used 
rouge  and  lip  red.  She  "met  fellers"  under  flaming  gas 
jets,  and  went  to  dance  halls  with  them,  and  to  the 
Sunday  picnics  that  were  her  father's  especial  abomi 
nation;  she  shyly  told  vile  stories  and  timidly  used 
strong  words,  but  there  it  ended.  Perhaps  some  tat 
tered  remnant  of  the  golden  dream  still  hung  before  her 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  7 

eyes;  perhaps  she  still  clung  to  the  hope  of  a  dim,  won 
derful  time  to  come. 

More  than  that,  the  boys  she  knew  were  not  a  vicious 
lot;  the  Jimmies  and  Johnnies,  the  Dans  and  Eds,  were 
for  the  most  part  neighbours,  no  more  anxious  to  antag 
onize  Emeline's  father  than  she  was.  They  might  kiss 
her  good-night  at  her  door,  they  might  deliberately 
try  to  get  the  girls  to  miss  the  last  train  home  from  the 
picnic,  but  their  spirit  was  of  idle  mischief  rather  than 
malice,  and  a  stinging  slap  from  Emeline's  hand  af 
forded  them,  as  it  did  her,  a  certain  shamed  satisfaction. 

George  Page  came  into  "Delphine's"  on  a  windy 
summer  afternoon  when  Emeline  had  been  there  for 
nearly  five  years.  He  was  a  salesman  for  some  lines  of 
tailored  hats,  a  San  Franciscan,  but  employed  by  a 
New  York  wholesale  house.  Emeline  chanced  to  be 
alone  in  the  place,  for  Miss  Clarke  was  sick  in  bed,  and 
the  other  saleswoman  away  on  her  vacation.  The 
trimmers,  glancing  out  through  a  plush  curtain  at  the 
rear,  saw  Miss  Cox  and  the  "drummer"  absorbed  in  a 
three  hours'  conversation.  From  two  to  five  o'clock 
they  talkeil;  the  drummer  watching  her  in  obvious  ad 
miration  when  an  occasional  customer  interrupted,  and 
when  Miss  Cox  went  home  the  drummer  escorted  her. 
Emeline  had  left  the  parental  roof  some  two  years  be 
fore;  she  was  rooming,  now,  with  a  mild  and  virtuous 
girl  named  Regina  Lynch,  in  Howard  Street.  Regina 
was  the  sort  of  girl  frequently  selected  by  a  girl  of  Eme 
line's  type  for  confidante  and  companion:  timid,  conven 
tional,  always  ready  to  laugh  and  admire.  Regina  con 
sented  to  go  to  dinner  with  Emeline  and  Mr.  Page,  and 
as  she  later  refused  to  go  to  the  theatre,  Emeline  would 
not  go  either;  they  all  walked  out  Market  Street  from 
the  restaurant,  and  reached  the  Howard  Street  house 
at  about  nine  o'clock.  Regina  went  straight  upstairs, 
but  Emeline  and  George  Page  sat  on  the  steps  an  hour 
longer,  under  the  bright  summer  moon,  and  when 
Emeline  went  upstairs  she  woke  her  roommate  up,  and 
announced  her  engagement. 


8  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

George  came  into  the  store  at  nine  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  to  radiantly  confirm  all  that  they  had  said  the 
night  before,  and  with  great  simplicity  the  two  began  to 
plan  for  their  future;  from  that  time  they  had  break 
fast,  lunch,  and  dinner  together  every  day;  they  were 
both  utterly  satisfied;  they  never  questioned  their  fate. 
In  October  George  had  to  go  to  San  Diego,  and  a  dozen 
little  cities  en  route,  for  the  firm,  and  Emeline  went, 
too.  They  were  married  in  the  little  church  of  Saint 
Charles  in  Eighteenth  Street,  only  an  hour  or  two  be 
fore  they  started  for  San  Jose,  the  first  stop  in  George's 
itinerary.  Emeline's  mother  and  sisters  came  to  her 
wedding,  but  the  men  of  the  family  were  working  on 
this  week-day  afternoon.  The  bride  looked  excited  and 
happy,  colour  burned  scarlet  in  her  cheeks,  under  her 
outrageous  hat;  she  wore  a  brown  travelling  gown,  and 
the  lemon-coloured  gloves  that  were  popular  in  that 
day.  Emeline  felt  that  she  was  leaving  everything  un 
pleasant  in  life  behind  her.  George  was  the  husband  of 
her  dreams — or  perhaps  her  dreams  had  temporarily 
adapted  themselves  to  George. 

But,  indeed,  he  was  an  exceptionally  good  fellow.  He 
was  handsome,  big,  dashingly  dressed.  He  was  steady 
and  successful  in  his  work,  domestic  in  his  tastes,  and 
tenderly — and  perhaps  to-day  a  little  pityingly — de 
voted  to  this  pretty,  clever  girl  who  loved  him  so,  and 
had  such  faith  in  him.  His  life  had  kept  him  a  good 
deal  among  men,  and  rather  coarse  men;  he  had  had  to 
do  more  drinking  than  he  cared  to  do,  to  play  a  good 
deal  of  poker,  to  listen  to  a  good  deal  of  loose  talk.  Now, 
George  felt  a  great  relief  that  this  was  over;  he  wanted 
a  home,  a  wife,  children. 

The  bride  and  groom  had  a  cloudless  three  weeks  of 
honeymoon  among  a  score  of  little  Southern  towns — 
and  were  scarcely  less  happy  during  the  first  months  of 
settling  down.  Emeline  was  entirely  ignorant  of  what 
was  suitable  or  desirable  in  a  home,  and  George  had 
only  the  crude  ideals  of  a  travelling  man  to  guide  him. 
They  enthusiastically  selected  a  flat  of  four  handsome, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  9 

large,  dark  rooms,  over  a  corner  saloon,  on  O'Farrell 
Street.  The  building  was  new,  the  neighbourhood 
well  built,  and  filled  with  stirring,  interesting  life. 
George  said  it  was  conveniently  near  the  restaurant  and 
theatre  district,  and  to  Emeline,  after  Mission  Street,  it 
seemed  the  very  hub  of  the  world.  The  suite  con 
sisted  of  a  large  front  drawing-room,  connected  by 
enormous  folding  doors  with  a  rear  drawing-room, 
which  the  Pages  would  use  as  a  bedroom,  a  large 
dining-room,  and  a  dark  kitchen,  equipped  with  range 
and  "water  back."  There  were  several  enormous 
closets,  and  the  stairs  and  hall,  used  by  the  several  ten 
ants  of  the  house,  were  carpeted  richly.  The  Pages 
also  carpeted  their  own  rooms,  hung  the  stiff  folds  of 
Nottingham  lace  curtains  at  the  high  narrow  windows, 
and  selected  a  set  of  the  heavily  upholstered  furniture 
of  the  period  for  their  drawing-room.  When  Emeline's 
mother  and  sisters  came  to  call,  Emeline  showed  them 
her  gold-framed  pictures,  her  curly-maple  bed  and 
bureau,  her  glass  closet  in  the  dining-room,  with  its 
curved  glass  front  and  sides  and  its  shining  contents — 
berry  saucers  and  almond  dishes  in  pressed  glass,  and 
other  luxuries  to  which  the  late  Miss  Cox  had  been  en 
tirely  a  stranger.  Emeline  was  intoxicated  with  the 
freedom  and  the  pleasures  of  her  new  life;  George  was 
out  of  town  two  or  three  nights  a  week,  but  when  he  was 
at  home  the  two  slept  late  of  mornings,  and  loitered  over 
their  breakfast,  Emeline  in  a  loose  wrapper,  filling  and 
refilling  her  coffee  cup,  while  George  rattled  the  paper 
and  filled  the  room  with  the  odour  of  cigarettes. 

•Then  Emeline  was  left  to  put  her  house  in  order,  and 
dress  herself  for  the  day — her  corsets  laced  tight  at  the 
waist,  her  black  hair  crimped  elaborately  above  her 
bang,  her  pleated  skirts  draped  fashionably  over  her 
bustle.  George  would  come  back  at  one  o'clock  to 
take  her  to  lunch,  and  after  lunch  they  wandered  up  and 
down  Kearney  and  Market  streets,  laughing  and  chat 
ting,  glad  just  to  be  alive  and  together.  Sometimes 
they  dined  downtown,  too,  and  afterward  went  to  the 


10  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


"Tivoli"  or  "Morosco's,"  or  even  the  Bald  win  Theatre, 
and  sometimes  bought  and  carried  home  the  materials 
for  a  dinner,  and  invited  a  few  of  George's  men  friends 
to  enjoy  it  with  them.  These  were  happy  times;  Erne- 
line,  flushed  and  pretty  in  her  improvised  apron,  queened 
it  over  the  three  or  four  adoring  males,  and  wondered 
why  other  women  fussed  so  long  over  cooking,  when 
men  so  obviously  enjoyed  a  steak,  baked  potatoes, 
canned  vegetables,  and  a  pie  from  Swain's.  After  din 
ner  the  men  always  played  poker,  a  mild  little  game  at 
first,  with  Emeline  eagerly  guarding  a  little  pile  of  chips, 
and  gasping  over  every  hand  like  a  happy  child;  but 
later  more  seriously,  when  Emeline,  contrary  to  poker 
superstition,  sat  on  the  arm  of  her  husband's  chair,  to 
bring  him  luck. 

Luck  she  certainly  seemed  to  bring  him;  the  Pages 
would  go  yawning  to  bed,  after  one  of  these  eve.  '  ~gs, 
chuckling  over  the  various  hands. 

"I  couldn't  see  what  you  drew,  George,"  Emeline 
would  say,  "but  I  could  see  that  Mack  had  aces  on  the 
roof,  and  it  made  me  crazy  to  have  you  go  on  raising 
that  way!  And  then  your  three  fish  hooks!" 

George  would  shout  with  pride  at  her  use  of  poker 
terms — would  laugh  all  the  harder  if  she  used  them  in 
correctly.  And  sometimes,  sinking  luxuriously  into  the 
depths  of  the  curly-maple  bed,  Emeline  would  think 
herself  the  luckiest  woman  in  the  world.  No  hurry 
about  getting  up  in  the  morning;  no  one  to  please  but 
herself;  pretty  gowns  and  an  adoring  husband  and  a 
home  beyond  her  maddest  hopes — the  girl's  dreams  no 
longer  followed  her,  happy  reality  had  blotted  out  the 
dream. 

She  felt  a  little  injured,  a  little  frightened,  when  the 
day  came  on  which  she  must  tell  George  of  some  pretty 
well-founded  suspicions  of  her  own  condition.  George 
might  be  "mad,"  or  he  might  laugh. 

But  George  was  wonderfully  soothing  and  reassuring; 
more,  was  pathetically  glad  and  proud.  He  petted 
Emeline  into  a  sort  of  reluctant  joy,  and  the  attitude  of 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  11 

her  mother  and  sisters  and  the  few  women  she  knew  was 
likewise  flattering.  Important,  self-absorbed,  she  waited 
her  appointed  days,  and  in  the  early  winter  a  wizened, 
mottled  little  daughter  was  born.  Julia  was  the  name 
Emeline  had  chosen  for  a  girl,  and  Julia  was  the  name 
duly  given  her  by  the  radiant  and  ecstatic  George  in  the 
very  first  hour  of  her  life.  Emeline  had  lost  interest  in 
the  name — indeed,  in  the  child  and  her  father  as  well — 
just  then;  racked,  bewildered,  wholly  spent,  she  lay 
back  in  the  curly-maple  bed,  the  first  little  seed  of  that 
general  resentment  against  life  that  was  eventually  to 
envelop  her,  forming  in  her  mind. 

They  had  told  her  that  because  of  this  or  that  she 
would  not  have  a  "hard  time,"  and  she  had  had  a  very 
hard  time.  They  had  told  her  that  she  would  forget  the 
cruel  pain  the  instant  it  was  over,  and  she  knew  she 
ne^cf  would  forget  it.  It  made  her  shudder  weakly  to 
think  of  all  the  babies  in  the  world — of  the  schools 
packed  with  children — at  what  a  cost! 

Emeline  recovered  quickly,  and  shut  her  resentment 
into  her  own  breast.  Julie,  as  she  was  always  called, 
was  a  cross  baby,  and  nowadays  the  two  front  rooms 
were  usually  draped  with  her  damp  undergarments,  and 
odorous  of  sour  bottles  and  drying  clothes.  For  the 
few  months  that  Emeline  nursed  the  child  she  wandered 
about  until  late  in  the  day  in  a  loose  wrapper,  a  margin 
of  draggled  nightgown  showing  under  it,  her  hair  in  a 
tumbled  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head.  If  she  had  to  run 
out  for  a  loaf  of  bread  or  a  pound  of  coffee,  she  slipped  on 
a  street  skirt,  and  buttoned  her  long  coat  about  her;  her 
lean  young  throat  would  show,  bare  above  the  lapels  of 
the  coat,  but  even  this  costume  was  not  conspicuous  in 
that  particular  neighbourhood. 

By  the  time  Julia  was  weaned,  Emeline  had  formed 
the  wrapper  habit;  she  had  also  slipped  back  to  the  old 
viewpoint:  they  were  poor  people,  and  the  poor  couldn't 
afford  to  do  things  decently,  to  live  comfortably. 
Emeline  scolded  and  snapped  at  George,  shook  and 


12  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

scolded  the  crying  baby,  and  loitered  in  the  hall  for 
long,  complaining  gossips  with  the  other  women  of  the 
house. 

Time  extricated  the  young  Pages  from  these  troubled 
days.  Julia  grew  into  a  handsome,  precocious  little 
girl  of  whom  both  parents  could  be  proud.  Emeline 
never  quite  recovered  her  girlish  good  looks,  her  face 
was  thin  now,  with  prominent  cheek  bones;  there  was  a 
little  frowning  line  drawn  between  her  eyes,  and  her 
expression  was  sharp  and  anxious,  but  she  became  more 
fond  of  dress  than  ever. 

George's  absences  were  a  little  longer  in  these  days;  he 
had  been  given  a  larger  territory  to  cover — and  Emeline 
naturally  turned  for  society  toward  her  women  neigh 
bours.  There  were  one  or  two  very  congenial  married 
women  of  her  own  type  in  the  same  house,  pleasure- 
loving,  excitable  young  women;  one,  a  Mrs.  Carter,  with 
two  children  in  school,  the  other,  Mrs.  Palmer,  triumph 
antly  childless.  These  introduced  her  to  others;  some 
times  half  a  dozen  of  them  would  go  to  a  matinee 
together,  a  noisy,  chattering  group.  During  the  matinee 
Julia  would  sit  on  her  mother's  lap,  a  small  awed  figure 
in  a  brief  red  silk  dress  and  deep  lace  collar.  Julia 
always  had  several  chocolates  from  the  boxes  that 
circulated  among  her  elders,  and  usually  went  to  sleep 
during  the  last  act,  and  was  dragged  home,  blinking  and 
whining  and  wretched,  by  one  aching  little  arm. 

George  was  passionately  devoted  to  his  little  girl,  and 
no  toy  was  too  expensive  for  Julia  to  demand.  Emeline 
loved  the  baby,  too,  although  she  accepted  as  a  martyr 
dom  the  responsibility  of  supplying  Julia's  needs.  But 
the  Pages  themselves  rather  drifted  apart  with  the 
years.  Both  were  selfish,  and  each  accused  the  other  of 
selfishness,  although,  as  Emeline  said  stormily,  no  one 
had  ever  called  her  that  before  she  was  married,  and,  as 
George  sullenly  claimed,  he  himself  had  always  been 
popularity's  self  among  the  "fellows." 

In  all  her  life  Emeline  had  never  felt  anything  but  a 
resentful  impatience  for  whatever  curtailed  her  liberty 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  13 

or  disturbed  her  comfort  in  the  slightest  degree.  She 
had  never  settled  down  to  do  cheerfully  anything  that 
she  did  not  want  to  do.  She  had  shaken  off  the  claims 
of  her  own  home  as  lightly  as  she  had  stepped  from 
"Delphine's"  to  the  more  tempting  position  of  George's 
wife.  Now  she  could  not  believe  that  she  was  destined 
to  live  on  with  a  man  who  was  becoming  a  confirmed 
dyspeptic,  who  thought  she  was  a  poor  housekeeper,  an 
extravagant  shopper,  a  wretched  cook,  and  worse  than 
all,  a  sloven  about  her  personal  appearance.  Emeline 
really  was  all  these  things  at  times,  and  suspected  it, 
but  she  had  never  been  shown  how  to  do  anything  else, 
and  she  denied  all  charges  noisily. 

One  night  when  Julia  was  about  four  George  stamped 
out  of  the  house,  after  a  tirade  against  the  prevailing  dis 
order  and  some  insulting  remarks  about  "delicatessen 
food."  Emeline  sent  a  few  furious  remarks  after  him, 
and  then  wept  over  the  sliced  ham,  the  potato  salad,  and 
the  Saratoga  chips,  all  of  which  she  had  brought  home 
from  a  nearby  delicacy  shop  in  oily  paper  bags  only  an 
hour  ago.  She  wandered  disconsolately  through  the 
four  rooms  that  had  been  her  home  for  nearly  six  years. 
The  dust  lay  thick  on  the  polished  wood  and  glass  of  the 
sideboard  and  glass  closet  in  the  dining-room;  ashes  and 
the  ends  of  cigarettes  filled  half  a  dozen  little  receptacles 
here  and  there;  a  welter  of  newspapers  had  formed  a 
great  drift  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  the  thick  velour 
day  cover  of  the  table  had  been  pushed  back  to  make 
way  for  a  doubled  and  spotted  tablecloth  and  the 
despised  meal.  The  kitchen  was  hideous  with  a  con 
fusion  of  souring  bottles  of  milk,  dirty  dishes,  hardened 
ends  of  loaves,  and  a  sticky  jam  jar  or  two;  Emeline's 
range  was  spotted  and  rusty,  she  never  fired  it  now;  a 
three-burner  gas  plate  sufficed  for  the  family's  needs. 
In  the  bedroom  a  dozen  garments  were  flung  over  the 
foot  of  the  unmade  bed,  Julia's  toys  and  clothing 
littered  this  and  the  sitting-room,  the  silk  woof  had  been 
worn  away  on  the  heavily  upholstered  furniture,  and  the 
strands  of  the  cotton  warp  separated  to  show  the  white 


14  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

lining  beneath.  On  the  mantel  was  a  litter  of  medicine 
bottles  and  theatre  programs,  powder  boxes,  gloves  and 
slippers,  packages  of  gum  and  of  cigarettes,  and  packs  of 
cards,  as  well  as  more  ornamental  matters:  china 
statuettes  and  glass  cologne  bottles,  a  palm-leaf  fan 
with  roses  painted  on  it,  a  pincushion  of  redwood 
bark,  and  a  plush  rolling-pin  with  brass  screws  in  it, 
hung  by  satin  ribbons.  Over  all  lay  a  thick  coat  of 
dust. 

Emeline  took  Julia  in  her  lap,  and  sat  down  in  one  of 
the  patent  rockers.  She  remained  for  a  long  time 
staring  out  of  the  front  window.  George's  words 
burned  angrily  in  her  memory — she  felt  sick  of  life. 

A  spring  twilight  was  closing  down  upon  O'Farrell 
Street.  In  the  row  of  houses  opposite  Emeline  could 
see  slits  of  gaslight  behind  lowered  shades,  and  could 
look  straight  into  the  second  floor  of  the  establishment 
that  flourished  behind  a  large  sign  bearing  the  words, 
"O'Connor,  Modes."  This  row  of  bay-windowed 
houses  had  been  occupied  as  homes  by  very  good  families 
when  the  Pages  first  came  to  O'Farrell  Street,  but 
six  years  had  seen  great  changes  in  the  block.  A 
grocery  and  bar  now  occupied  the  corner,  facing  the 
saloon  above  which  the  Pages  lived,  and  the  respectable 
middle-class  families  had  moved  away,  one  by  one, 
giving  place  to  all  sorts  of  business  enterprises.  Milliners 
and  dressmakers  took  the  first  floors,  and  rented  the 
upper  rooms;  one  window  said  "Mme.  Claire,  Palmist," 
and  another  "Violin  Lessons";  one  basement  was 
occupied  by  a  dealer  in  plaster  statuary,  and  another  by 
a  little  restaurant.  Most  interesting  of  all  to  the  stage- 
loving  Emeline  was  the  second  floor,  obliquely  opposite 
her  own,  which  bore  an  immense  sign,  "Gottoli,  Wigs 
and  Theatrical  Supplies.  Costumes  of  all  sorts  Designed 
and  on  Hand."  Between  Gottoli's  windows  were  two 
painted  panels  representing  respectively  a  very  angular, 
moustached  young  man  in  a  dress  suit,  and  a  girl  in  a 
Spanish  dancer's  costume,  with  a  tambourine.  Gottoli 
did  not  do  a  very  flourishing  business,  but  Emeline 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  15 

watched  his  doorway  by  the  hour,  and  if  ever  her  dreams 
came  back  now,  it  was  at  these  times. 

To-night  Julia  went  to  sleep  in  her  arms;  she  was  an 
unexacting  little  girl,  accustomed  to  being  ignored  much 
of  the  time,  and  humoured,  over-indulged,  and  laughed 
at  at  long  intervals.  Emeline  sat  on  and  on,  crying  now 
and  then,  and  gradually  reducing  herself  to  a  more 
softened  mood,  when  she  longed  to  be  dear  to  George 
again,  to  please  and  content  him.  She  had  just  made  up 
her  mind  that  this  was  no  neighbourhood  for  ideal  home 
life,  when  George,  smelling  strongly  of  whiskey,  but 
affectionate  and  repentant,  came  in. 

"What  doing ?"  asked  George,  stumbling  in  the  dark 
room. 

"Just  watching  the  cable  cars  go  up  and  down," 
Emeline  said,  rousing.  She  set  the  dazed  Julia  on  her 
feet,  and  groped  for  matches  on  the  mantel.  A  second 
later  the  stifling  odour  of  block  matches  drifted  through 
the  room,  and  Emeline  lighted  a  gas  jet. 

"Had  your  supper?"  said  she,  as  George  sat  down  and 
took  the  child  into  his  arms. 

"Nope,"  he  answered,  grinning  ashamedly.  "Thought 
maybe  you  and  Fd  go  to  dinner  somewheres,  Em." 

Emeline  was  instantly  her  better  self.  While  she 
flew  into  her  best  clothes  she  told  George  that  she  knew 
she  was  a  rotten  manager,  but  she  was  so  darn  sick  of 

this  darn  flat She  had  just  been  sitting  there 

wondering  if  they  hadn't  better  move  into  the  country, 
say  into  Oakland.  Her  sister  May  lived  there,  they 
might  get  a  house  near  May,  with  a  garden  for  Julia,  and 
a  spare  room  where  George  could  put  up  a  friend. 

George  was  clumsily  enthusiastic.  Gosh,  if  she 
would  do  that — if  she  could  stand  its  being  a  little 
quiet 

"I'd  get  to  know  the  neighbours,  and  we'd  have  real 
good  times,"  said  Emeline  optimistically,  "and  it  would 
be  grand  for  Julie!" 

Julia  had  by  this  time  gone  off  to  sleep  in  the  centre 
of  the  large  bed.  Her  mother  removed  the  child's  shoes 


16  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  some  of  her  clothing,  without  rousing  her,  loosened 
her  garters,  and  unbuttoned  whatever  buttons  she  could 
reach. 

"She'll  be  all  right,"  she  said  confidently.  "She 
never  wakes." 

George  lowered  the  gas,  and  they  tiptoed  out.  But 
Julie  did  waken  half  an  hour  later,  as  it  happened,  and 
screamed  for  company  for  ten  hideous  minutes.  Then 
Miss  Flossie  Miniver,  a  young  woman  who  rnd  recently 
rented  the  top  floor,  and  of  whom  Emeline  and  the  other 
ladies  of  the  house  disapproved,  came  downstairs  and 
softly  entered  the  Page  flat,  and  gathered  the  sobbing 
little  girl  to  her  warm,  soft  breast.  Miss  Miniver 
soothed  her  with  a  new  stick  of  gum  and  a  pincushion 
that  looked  like  a  fat  little  pink  satin  leg,  with  a  smart 
boot  at  one  end  and  a  ruffle  of  lace  at  the  other,  and 
left  Julia  peacefully  settled  down  to  sleep.  But  Julia 
did  not  remember  anything  of  this  in  the  morning,  and 
the  pincushion  had  rolled  under  the  bed,  so  Emeline 
never  knew  of  it.  She  and  George  had  a  good  dinner, 
and  later  went  to  the  Orpheum,  and  were  happier  than 
they  had  been  for  a  long  time. 

The  next  Sunday  they  went  to  Oakland  to  see  Erne- 
line's  sister,  and  possibly  to  begin  househunting.  It 
was  a  cold,  dark  day,  with  a  raw  wind  blowing.  Gulls 
dipped  and  screamed  over  the  wake  of  the  ferryboat 
that  carried  the  Pages  to  Oakland,  and  after  the  warm 
cabin  and  the  heated  train,  they  all  shivered  miserably 
as  they  got  out  at  the  appointed  corner.  Oakland 
looked  bleak  and  dreary,  the  wind  was  blowing  chafF  and 
papers  against  fences  and  steps. 

EmeHne  had  rather  lost  sight  of  her  sister  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  had  last  seen  her  in  another  and  better  house 
than  the  one  which  they  presently  identified  by  street 
and  number.     The  sisters  had  married  at  about  the  same 
time,  but  Ed  Torney  was  a  shiftless  and  unfortunat 
man,  never  steadily  at  work,  and  always  mildly  su 
prised  at  the  discomfort  of  life.     May  had  four  childrei 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  17 

and  was  expecting  a  fifth.  Two  of  the  older  children, 
stupid-looking  little  blondes,  with  colds  in  their  noses, 
and  dirt  showing  under  the  fair  hair,  were  playing  in  the 
dooryard  of  the  shabby  cottage  now.  The  gate  hung 
loose,  the  ground  was  worn  bare  by  children's  feet  and 
dug  into  holes  where  children  had  burrowed,  and  lit 
tered  with  cans  and  ropes  and  boxes. 

Emeline  was  genuinely  shocked  by  the  evidences  of 
actual  want  inside.  May  was  a  thin,  bent,  sickly  looking 
woman  now,  her  graying  hair  hanging  in  a  loose  coil  over 
her  cotton  wrapper.  Floors  everywhere  were  bare,  a  few 
chairs  were  here  and  there,  a  few  beds  running  over  with 
thin  bedding,  a  table  in  the  kitchen  was  covered  with 
scattered  dishes,  some  dirty  and  some  clean.  Ashes 
drifted  out  of  the  kitchen  stove,  and  in  the  sink  was  a 
great  tin  dish-pan  full  of  cool,  greasy  water.  The  oldest 
child,  a  five-year-old  girl,  had  followed  these  dazzling  vis 
itors  in,  and  now  mounted  a  box  and  attacked  this  dish- 
pan  with  pathetic  energy.  The  two  younger  children  sat 
on  the  floor,  apathetically  staring.  May  made  only  a  few 
smiling  apologies.  They  "could  see  how  she  was,"  she 
said,  limping  to  a  chair  into  which  she  dropped  with  a 
sigh  of  relief.  They  had  had  a  "fierce"  time  since  Ed — 
Ed  was  the  husband  and  father — had  lost  his  job  a  year 
ago.  He  had  not  been  able  to  get  anything  permanent 
since.  Ed  had  been  there  just  a  minute  ago,  she  said — 
and  indeed  the  odour  of  tobacco  was  still  strong  on 
the  close  air — but  he  had  been  having  a  good  deal  of 
stomach  trouble  of  late,  and  the  children  made  him 
nervous,  and  he  had  gone  out  for  a  walk.  Poor  May, 
smiling  gallantly  over  the  difficulties  of  her  life,  drew 
her  firstborn  to  her  knees,  brushed  back  the  child's  silky, 
pale  hair  with  bony,  trembling  fingers,  and  prophesied 
that  things  would  be  easier  when  mamma's  girlies  got 
to  work:  Evelyn  was  going  to  be  a  dressmaker,  and 
Marguerite  an  actress. 

"She  can  say  a  piece  out  of  the  Third  Reader  real 
cute — the  children  next  door  taught  her,"  said  May, 
but  Marguerite  would  not  be  exploited;  she  dug  her 


18  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

blonde  head  into  her  mother's  shoulder  in  a  panic  of  shy 
ness;  and  shortly  afterward  the  Pages  went  away. 
Uncle  George  gave  each  child  a  dime,  Julia  kissed  her 
little  cousins  good-bye,  and  Emeline  felt  a  sick  spasm 
of  pity  and  shame  as  May  bade  the  children  thank 
them,  and  thanked  them  herself.  Emeline  drew  her 
sister  to  the  door,  and  pressed  two  silver  dollars,  all  she 
happened  to  have  with  her,  into  her  hand. 

"Aw,  don't,  Em,  you  oughtn't,"  May  said,  ashamed 
and  turning  crimson,  but  instantly  she  took  the  money. 
"We've  had  an  awful  hard  time — or  I  wouldn't!"  said 
she,  tears  coming  to  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!"  Emeline  said  uncomfortably, 
as  she  ran  down  the  steps.  Her  heart  burned  with 
sympathy  for  poor  May,  who  had  been  so  pretty  and  so 
clever!  Emeline  could  not  understand  the  change! 
May  had  graduated  from  High  School  with  honours; 
she  had  held  a  good  position  as  a  bookkeeper  in  a  gro 
cery  before  her  marriage,  but,  like  Emeline,  for  the  real 
business  of  life  she  had  had  no  preparation  at  all.  Her 
own  oldest  child  could  have  managed  the  family  finances 
and  catered  to  sensitive  stomachs  with  as  much  system 
and  intelligence  as  May. 

On  the  boat  Emeline  spoke  of  her  little  money  gift  to 
her  sister,  and  George  roused  himself  from  a  deep  study 
to  approve  and  to  reimburse  her.  They  did  not  speak 
again  of  moving  to  the  country,  and  went  straight  from 
the  boat  to  a  French  table  d'hote  dinner,  where  Julia, 
enchanted  at  finding  herself  warm  and  near  food  after 
the  long  cold  adventures  of  the  day,  stuffed  herself  on 
sardines  and  sour  bread,  soup  and  salad,  and  shrimps 
and  fried  chicken,  and  drank  tumblers  of  claret  and 
sugar  and  ice  water. 

There  were  still  poker  parties  occasionally  in  the 
Page  flat;  Emeline  was  quite  familiar  with  poker  phrase 
ology  now,  and  if  George  seemed  less  pleased  than  he 
had  been  when  she  rattled  away  about  hands,  the  men 
who  came  were  highly  diverted  by  it.  Two  or  three 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  19 

other  wives  generally  joined  the  party  now;  there  would 
be  seven  or  eight  players  about  the  round  table. 

They  all  drank  as  they  played,  the  room  would  get 
very  warm,  and  reek  of  tobacco  and  of  whiskey  and 
beer.  Sometimes  Julia  woke  up  with  a  terrified  shout, 
and  then,  if  Emeline  were  playing,  she  would  get 
George,  or  one  of  the  other  men  or  women,  to  go  in  and 
quiet  the  little  girl.  These  games  would  not  break  up 
until  two  or  three  o'clock.  Emeline  would  be  playing 
excitedly,  her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  shining,  every  fibre 
of  her  being  alert,  when  suddenly  the  life  would  seem 
to  fade  out  of  the  whole  game.  An  overwhelming  ennui 
would  seize  her,  a  cold,  clear-eyed  fatigue — the  cards 
would  seem  meaningless,  a  chill  would  shake  her,  a  need 
of  yawning.  The  whole  company  would  be  suddenly 
likewise  affected,  the  game  would  break  up  with  a  few 
brief  words,  and  Emeline,  going  in  with  her  guests  to 
help  them  with  hats  and  wraps,  would  find  herself  ut 
terly  silent,  too  cold  and  weary  for  even  the  most  casual 
civilities.  When  the  others  had  gone,  she  and  George 
would  turn  the  lights  out  on  the  wreckage  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  stagger  silently  to  bed. 

Fatigue  would  follow  Emeline  well  into  the  next  day 
after  one  of  these  card  parties.  If  George  was  going 
out  of  town,  she  would  send  Julia  off  to  play  with  other 
children  in  the  house,  and  lie  in  bed  until  noon,  getting 
up  now  and  then  to  hold  a  conversation  with  some 
tradesman  through  a  crack  in  the  door.  At  one  she 
might  sally  forth  in  her  favourite  combination  of  wrap 
per  and  coat  to  buy  cream  and  rolls,  and  Julia  would 
be  regaled  on  sausages,  hot  cakes,  bakery  cookies,  and 
coffee,  or  come  in  to  find  no  lunch  at  all,  and  that  her 
mother  had  gone  out  for  the  afternoon. 

Emeline  had  grown  more  and  more  infatuated  with 
the  theatre  and  all  that  pertained  to  it.  She  went  to 
matinees  twice  a  week,  and  she  and  her  group  of  inti 
mate  friends  also  "went  Dutch"  to  evening  perform 
ances  whenever  it  was  possible.  Their  conversation 


20  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

was  spattered  with  theatrical  terms,  and  when,  as  oc 
casionally  happened,  a  real  actress  or  even  a  chorus 
girl  from  the  Tivoli  joined  their  group,  Emeline  could 
hardly  contain  her  eagerness  and  her  admiration.  She 
loved,  when  rare  chance  offered,  to  go  behind  the  scenes; 
she  frankly  envied  the  egotistic,  ambitious  young  the 
atrical  beginners,  so  eager  to  talk  of  themselves  and  their 
talents,  to  discuss  every  detail  from  grease  paint  to 
management.  To  poor  hungry  Emeline  it  was  like  a 
revelation  of  another,  brighter  world. 

She  would  loiter  out  from  the  brief  enchantment  of 
"Two  True  Hearts"  into  the  foggy  dampness  of  Mar 
ket  Street,  at  twilight,  eagerly  grasping  the  suggestion 
of  ice-cream  sodas,  because  it  meant  a  few  minutes  more 
with  her  friends.  Perhaps,  sipping  the  frothy  confec 
tion,  Emeline  would  see  some  of  the  young  actresses 
going  by,  just  from  the  theatre,  buttoned  into  long 
coats,  their  faces  still  rosy  from  cold  cream;  they  must 
rush  off  for  a  light  dinner,  and  be  back  at  the  theatre 
at  seven.  At  the  sight  of  them  a  pang  always  shot 
through  Emeline,  an  exquisite  agony  of  jealousy  seized 
her.  Oh,  to  be  so  busy,  so  full  of  affairs,  to  move  con 
stantly  from  one  place  to  another — now  dragging  a 
spangled  gown,  now  gay  as  a  peasant,  now  gaudily 
dressed  as  a  page! 

Emeline  would  finish  her  soda  in  silence,  lift  the  over 
dressed  Julia  from  her  chair,  and  start  soberly  for  home. 
Julia's  short  little  legs  ached  from  the  quick  walk, 
yet  she  hated  as  much  as  her  mother  the  plunge  from 
brightly  lighted  O'Farrell  Street  into  their  own  hall, 
so  large  and  damp  and  dark,  so  odorous  of  stale  beer 
and  rubber  floor  covering.  A  dim  point  of  gas  in  a  red 
shade  covered  with  symmetrical  glass  blisters  usually 
burned  over  the  stairway,  but  the  Pages'  apartment  was 
dark,  except  for  a  dull  reflected  light  from  the  street. 
Perhaps  Julia  and  her  mother  would  find  George  there, 
with  his  coat  and  shoes  off,  and  his  big  body  flung  down 
across  the  bed,  asleep.  George  would  wake  up  slowly, 
with  much  yawning  and  grumbling,  Emeline  would 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  21 

add  her  gloves  and  belt  to  the  unspeakable  confusion  of 
the  bureau,  and  Julia  would  flatten  her  tired  little  back 
against  the  curve  of  an  armchair  and  follow  with  heavy, 
brilliant  eyes  the  argument  that  always  followed. 

"Well,  we  could  get  some  chops — chops  and  potatoes 
— and  a  can  of  corn,"  Emeline  would  grudgingly  admit, 
as  she  tore  off  her  tight  corsets  with  a  great  gasp  of  re 
lief,  and  slipped  into  her  kimono,  "or  you  could  get 
some  spaghetti  and  some  mangoes  at  the  delica 
tessen 

"Oh,  God,  cut  out  the  delicatessen  stuff!"  George 
invariably  said;  "me  for  the  chops,  huh,  Julie?" 

"Or — we  could  all  go  somewhere,"  Emeline  might 
submit  tentatively. 

"Nit,"  George  would  answer.  "Come  on,  Ju,  we'll 
go  buy  a  steak!" 

But  he  was  not  very  well  pleased  with  his  dinner, 
even  when  he  had  his  own  way.  When  he  and  Julia 
returned  with  their  purchases  Emeline  invariably  met 
them  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"We  need  butter,  George,  I  forgot  to  tell  you — 
you'll  have  to  go  back!"  she  would  say.  Julia,  tired 
almost  beyond  endurance,  still  preferred  to  go  with  her 
father. 

There  was  not  enough  gas  heat  under  Emeline's  fry 
ing  pan  to  cook  a  steak  well;  George  growled  as  he 
cut  it.  Emeline  jumped  up  for  forgotten  table  furnish 
ings;  grease  splashed  on  the  rumpled  cloth.  After  the 
one  course  the  head  of  the  house  would  look  about 
hungrily. 

'No  cheese  in  the  house,  I  suppose?" 

"No — I  don't  believe  there  is." 

"What's  the  chances  on  a  salad?" 

"Oh,  no,  George — that  takes  lettuce,  you  know.  My 
goodness!"  And  Emeline  would  put  her  elbows  on  the 
table  and  yawn,  the  rouge  showing  on  her  high  cheek 
bones,  her  eyes  glittering,  her  dark  hair  still  pressed 
down  where  her  hat  had  lain.  "My  goodness!"  she 
would  exclaim  impatiently,  "haven't  you  had  enough, 


22  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

George?  You  had  steak,  and  potatoes,  and  corn — 
why  don't  you  eat  your  corn  ? " 

"  What's  the  chances  on  a  cup  of  tea?"  George  might 
ask,  seizing  a  half  slice  of  bread,  and  doubling  an  ounce 
of  butter  into  it,  with  his  great  thumb  on  the  blade  of 
his  knife. 

"You  can  have  all  the  tea  you  want,  but  you'll  have 
to  use  condensed  milk!" 

At  this  George  would  say  "Damn!"  and  take  himself 
and  his  evening  paper  to  the  armchair  in  the  front  win 
dow.  When  Emeline  would  go  in,  after  a  cursory  dis 
position  of  the  dishes,  she  would  find  Julia  curled  in  his 
arms,  and  George  sourly  staring  over  the  little  silky  head. 

"It's  up  to  you,  and  it's  your  job,  and  it  makes  me 
damn  sick  to  come  home  to  such  a  dirty  pen  as  this!" 
George  sometimes  burst  out.  "Look  at  that—and 
look  at  that — look  at  that  mantel!" 

"Well — well — well!"  Emeline  would  answer  sharply, 
putting  the  mantel  straight,  or  commencing  to  do  so 
with  a  sort  of  lazy  scorn.  "I  can't  do  everything!" 

"Other  men  go  home  to  decent  dinners,"  George 
would  pursue  sullenly;  "their  wives  aren't  so  darn  lazy 
and  selfish " 

Such  a  start  as  this  always  led  to  a  bitter  quarrel, 
after  which  Emeline,  trembling  with  anger,  would  clear 
a  corner  of  the  cluttered  drawing-room  table  and  take 
out  a  shabby  pack  of  cards  for  solitaire,  and  George 
would  put  Julia  to  bed.  All  her  life  Julia  Page  remem 
bered  these  scenes  and  these  bedtimes. 

Her  father  sometimes  tore  the  tumbled  bed  apart, 
and  made  it  up  again,  smoothing  the  limp  sheets  with 
clumsy  fingers,  and  talking  to  Julia,  while  he  worked,  of 
little  girls  who  had  brothers  and  sisters,  and  who  lived 
in  the  country,  and  hung  their  stockings  up  on  Christ 
mas  Eve.  Emeline  pretended  not  to  notice  either 
father  or  daughter  at  these  times,  although  she  could 
have  whisked  Julia  into  bed  in  half  the  time  it  took 
George  to  do  it,  and  was  really  very  kind  to  the  child 
when  George  was  not  there. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  23 

When  George  asked  the  little  girl  to  find  her  hair 
brush,  and  blundered  over  the  buttons  of  her  night 
gown,  Emeline  hummed  a  sprightly  air.  She  never 
bore  resentment  long. 

"What  say  we  go  out  later  and  get  something  to 
eat,  George?"  she  would  ask,  when  George  tiptoed  out 
of  the  bedroom  and  shut  the  folding  door  behind  him. 
But  several  hours  of  discomfort  were  not  to  be  so  lightly 
dismissed  by  George. 

"Maybe,"  he  would  briefly  answer.  And  invariably 
he  presently  muttered  something  about  asking  "Cass" 
for  the  time,  and  so  went  down  to  the  saloon  of  "]. 
Cassidy,"  just  underneath  his  own  residence. 

Emeline,  alone,  would  brood  resentfully  over  her 
cards.  That  was  the  way  of  it:  men  could  run  off  to 
saloons,  while  she,  pretty  and  young,  and  with  the  love 
of  life  still  strong  in  her  veins,  might  as  well  be  dead  and 
buried!  Bored  and  lonely,  she  would  creep  into  bed 
beside  Julia,  after  turning  the  front-room  light  down 
to  a  bead,  and  flinging  over  the  "bed  lounge,"  upon 
which  George  spent  the  night,  the  musty  sheets  and 
blankets  and  the  big  soggy  pillows. 

But  George,  meanwhile,  would  have  found  warmth, 
brightness,  companionship,  and  good  food.  The  drink 
that  was  his  passport  to  all  these  good  things  was  the 
least  of  them  in  his  eyes.  George  did  not  care  par 
ticularly  for  drink,  but  he  usually  came  home  the  worse 
for  it  on  these  occasions,  and  Emeline  had  a  real  foun 
dation  for  her  furious  harangues  in  the  morning.  She 
would  scold  while  she  carried  him  in  hot  coffee  or 
chopped  ice,  scold  while  she  crimped  her  hair  and  cov 
ered  her  face  with  a  liquid  bleach,  scold  as  she  jerked 
Julia's  little  bonnet  on  the  child's  lovely  mane,  and  de 
part,  with  a  final  burst  of  scolding  and  a  bang  of  the 
door. 

One  day  Emeline  came  in  to  find  George  at  home,  ill.'* 
She  had  said  good-bye  to  him  only  the  day  before,  for 
what  was  supposedly  a  week,  and  was  really  concerned 


24  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

to  find  him  back  so  soon,  shivering  and  mumbling,  and 
apparently  unable  to  get  into  bed.  Emeline  sent  Julia 
flying  to  a  neighbour,  made  George  as  comfortable  as 
she  could  in  the  big  bed,  and  listened,  with  a  conviction 
as  firm  as  his  own,  to  what  he  believed  to  be  parting 
instructions  and  messages. 

"I'm  going,  Em,"  said  George  heavily.  "I'm  worse 
now  than  I  was  when  I  s'tarted  for  home.  I  wanted 
to  see  you  again,  baby  girl,  and  Julia,  too.  I — I  can't 
breathe 

Julia  presently  came  flying  in  with  a  doctor  and  with 
a  neighbour,  Mrs.  Cotter,  who  had  telephoned  to  him. 
The  doctor  said  that  George  had  a  sharp  touch  of  in 
fluenza,  and  Emeline  settled  down  to  nurse  him. 

George  was  a  bad  patient.  He  had  a  great  many 
needs,  and  he  mentioned  one  after  another  in  the 
weighty,  serious  tone  of  a  person  imparting  valuable 
information. 

"Ice — ice,"  said  George,  moving  hot  eyes  to  meet  his 
wife's  glance  as  she  came  in.  "And  take  that  extra 
blanket  off,  Emeline,  and — no  hurry,  but  I'll  try  the 
soup  again  whenever  you  say — I  seem  to  feel  weak. 
I  must  have  more  air,  dear.  Help  me  sit  up,  Em,  and 
you  can  shake  these  pillows  up  again.  I  think  I'm  a 
good  deal  sicker  man  than  Allan  has  any  idea " 

Emeline  got  very  tired  of  it,  especially  as  George  was 
much  better  on  the  third  day,  and  could  sit  up.  He 
developed  a  stiff  neck,  which  made  him  very  irritable, 
and  even  Julia  "got  on  his  nerves"  and  was  banished 
for  the  day  to  the  company  of  the  cheerful  Jewish  fam 
ily  who  lived  on  an  upper  floor.  He  sat  in  an  armchair, 
wrapped  in  blankets,  his  rigid  gaze  roving  a  pitifully 
restricted  perspective  of  street  outside  the  window,  an 
elaborate  cough  occasionally  racking  him. 

Emeline  had  gotten  a  fairly  tempting  dinner  under 
way.  She  could  cook  some  things  well,  and  at  five 
o'clock  she  came  in  from  the  kitchen  with  an  appetizing 
tray. 

"Gosh,  is  it  dinner  time?"  asked  George. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  25 

"After  five,"  Emeline  said,  flitting  about  the  bed 
room.  Julia  had  come  home  now,  sweet  and  tired,  and 
was  silently  eating  slice  after  slice  of  bread  and  jelly. 
Emeline  opened  out  the  bed  lounge,  spread  sheets  and 
blankets  smoothly,  and  flung  a  clean  little  nightgown 
for  Julia  across  the  foot.  Darkness  had  fallen  outside; 
she  lighted  the  gas  and  drew  the  shades. 

"This  is  comfortable!"  said  George.  "I  wouldn't 
mind  being  sick  now  and  then  at  this  rate!  Come  over 
here  and  undress  near  Pop,  Julie.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Em — you  call  down  the  air  shaft  to  Cass,  and  tell  him  to 
send  Henny  up  to  make  us  a  nice  little  coal  fire  here.  I'll 
give  Henny  a  quarter." 

"She's  gone  into  the  bathroom  to  fix  her  hair  and 
wash  her  face,"  Julia  observed,  as  Emeline  did  not 
answer.  A  second  later  the  child  jumped  up  to  answer 
a  sharp  knock  on  the  door. 

To  George's  disgust  it  was  Emeline's  friend,  Mrs. 
Marvin  Povey,  who  came  in.  Mrs.  Povey  was  a 
tightly  corseted,  coarse-voiced,  highly  coloured  little 
blonde,  breathless  now  from  running  upstairs.  Her 
sister,  Myrtle  Montague,  was  an  ingenue  in  the  little 
stock  company  at  the  Central  Theatre,  and  Mrs.  Povey 
kept  house  for  her  and  Mr.  Povey,  who  spent  all  his 
waking  hours  at  the  racetrack.  The  Poveys'  flat  was 
only  a  block  away  from  the  Pages'. 

George  was  furious  to  have  this  woman,  whom  he 
particularly  detested,  come  in  upon  him  thus  informally, 
and  find  him  at  so  great  a  disadvantage.  His  neck  was 
better,  but  he  could  not  move  it  very  easily  still;  he  was 
trapped  here  in  blankets  like  a  baby;  he  was  acutely 
conscious  of  his  three  days'  beard,  of  Julia's  bed  made 
uj*in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room,  and  of  Julia's  self, 
partly  disrobed,  and  running  about  in  the  general  dis 
order. 

"Well,  how  does  the  other  feller  look?"  said  Mrs. 
Povey,  laughing  good-naturedly.  "You  look  like  you'd 
broke  out  of  San  Quentin,  George,  with  that  face! 
Hello,  darlin',"  she  added,  waylaying  Julia.  "When 


26  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

are  you  going  to  come  and  be  Aunt  Maine's  girl,  huh? 
Going  to  come  home  with  me  to-night?" 

"Em!"  bellowed  George,  with  only  a  sickly  smile  for 
the  guest.  "Em!" 

"My  God,  what  is  it  now?"  said  Emeline  sweetly, 
popping  in  her  head.  "Oh,  hello,  Mame!"  she  added, 
coming  in.  "Where's  the  rest  of  the  girls  ? " 

"They've  all  blew  up  to  the  house  with  Myrt,"  said 
Mrs.  Povey,  staring  blankly  at  Emeline.  "But  say, 
ain't  you  going,  dear?" 

"Wait  till  I  get  my  dress  on,  and  we'll  talk  it  over 
while  I  hook  up,"  Emeline  said,  disappearing  again. 
She  did  not  glance  at  George. 

"Myrt's  in  a  new  show,  and  a  few  of  us  girls  are  going 
to  see  that  she  gets  a  hand,"  Mrs.  Povey  said.  "We're 
going  to  have  supper  at  my  house.  Mary  will  have 
some  of  the  boys  there." 

"I  guess  Emeline  will  have  to  wait  till  the  next  time," 
George  said  coldly.  "She  wouldn't  get  much  pleasure 
out  of  it,  leaving  me  here  as  sick  as  I  am!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  Mrs.  Povey  half  sang,  half 
laughed.  "  Emeline  likes  a  good  time,  like  all  the  rest  of 
us,  George,  and  it  don't  do  to  keep  a  pretty  girl  shut  up 
all  the  time!" 

"  Shut  up  ?     She's  never  here,"  George  growled. 

"Well,  we'll  see!"  Mrs.  Povey  hummed  contentedly. 
A  moment  later  Emeline  came  in,  wrenching  the  hooks 
of  her  best  gown  together.  She  had  her  hat  on,  and 
looked  excited  and  resolute. 

"I  forgot  I'd  promised  to  go  out  with  the  girls, 
George,"  she  began.  "You  don't  care,  do  you  ?  You've 
had  your  supper,  and  all  Julia's  got  to  do  is  get  into 
bed." 

George  looked  balefully  from  one  to  the  other.  Mrs. 
Povey  chanced  a  quick  little  wink  of  approval  and  en 
couragement  at  Emeline,  and  he  saw  it. 

"A  lot  you  forgot!"  he  said  harshly  to  his  wife. 
"  You've  been  getting  ready  for  the  last  hour.  Don't 
either  of  you  think  that  you're  fooling  me — I  see  through 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  27 

it!  I  could  lay  here  and  die,  and  a  lot  you'd  care!  You 
forgot — ha!" 

The  blood  rushed  instantly  to  Emeline's  face,  she 
turned  upon  him  her  ugliest  look,  and  the  hand  with 
which  she  was  buttoning  her  glove  trembled. 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  something,  Mr.  George  Page!" 
said  she,  in  an  intense  and  passionate  tone,  "there  are 
things  I'd  rather  do  than  set  around  this  house  and  hear 
you  tell  how  sick  you  are!  You  think  I'm  a  white  chip 
in  this  family,  but  let  me  tell  you  something — there's 
plenty  of  lovely  friends  I  got  who  think  I'm  a  fool  to 
keep  it  up!  I  had  an  offer  to  go  on  the  stage,  not  a 
month  ago,  from  a  manager  who  didn't  even  know  I  was 
married;  didn't  I,  Mame?  And  if  it  wasn't  for  Julie 
there -" 

"  You've  not  got  anything  on  me,  Em,"  George  said, 
breathing  hard,  his  face  blood  red  with  anger.  "Do 
you  think  that  if  it  wasn't  for  this  kid,  I'd 

"Oh,  folks — folks!"Mrs.  Povey said, really  concerned. 

"Well,  I  don't  care!"  Emeline  said,  panting.  She 
crossed  the  floor,  still  panting,  kissed  Julia,  and  swept 
from  the  room.  Mrs.  Povey,  murmuring  some  confused 
farewell,  followed  her. 

Julia  climbed  out  of  her  big  chair.  Like  all  children, 
she  was  frightened  by  loud  voices  and  domestic  scenes; 
she  was  glad  now  that  the  quarrel  was  over,  and  anxious, 
in  a  small  girl's  fashion,  to  blot  the  recent  unpleasant 
ness  from  her  father's  mind. 

She  sat  on  his  knee  and  talked  to  him,  she  sang,  she 
patted  his  sore  neck  with  sleek,  dirty  little  fingers.  And 
finally  she  won  him.  George  laughed,  and  entered  into 
her  mood.  He  thought  her  a  very  smart  little  girl,  as 
indeed  she  was.  She  had  a  precocious  knowledge  of  the 
affairs  of  her  mother's  friends,  sordid  affairs  enough,  and 
more  sordid  than  ever  when  retailed  by  a  child's  fresh 
mouth.  Julia  talked  of  money  trouble,  of  divorce,  of 
dressmaker's  bills,  of  diseases;  she  repeated  insolent 
things  that  had  been  said  to  her  in  the  street,  and  her 
insolent  replies;  her  rich,  delicious  laugh  broke  out  over 


28  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

the  memory  of  the  "drunk"  that  had  been  thrown  out 
of  Cassidy's. 

George  laughed  at  it  all;  it  sounded  very  funny  to  him, 
coming  from  this  very  small  person,  with  her  round, 
serious  eyes,  and  her  mop  of  gold.  He  asked  her  what 
she  wanted  him  to  bring  her  next  time  he  came  home, 
and  Julia  said  black  boots  with  white  tops  and  tassels, 
and  made  him  laugh  again. 

Thus  early  did  Julia  act  as  a  mediator  between  her 
parents,  but  of  this  particular  occasion  she  had  no 
recollection,  nor  of  much  that  followed  it.  Had  she 
been  a  few  years  older  she  might  really  have  affected  a 
lasting  reconciliation  between  them,  for  all  that  was 
best  in  George  made  him  love  his  daughter,  and  Emeline 
was  intensely  proud  of  the  child.  As  it  was,  Julia  was 
too  young.  She  might  unconsciously  be  the  means  of 
reuniting  them  now  and  then,  but  she  could  not  at  all 
grasp  the  situation,  and  when  she  was  not  quite  seven  a 
decree  of  divorce,  on  the  ground  of  desertion,  set  both 
Emeline  and  George  free,  after  eight  years  of  married 
life. 

Emeline  was  too  frightened  at  the  enormity  of  the 
thing  to  be  either  glad  or  sorry.  She  had  never  meant 
to  go  so  far.  She  had  threatened  George  with  divorce 
just  as  George  had  threatened  her,  in  the  heat  of  anger, 
practically  since  her  wedding  day.  But  the  emotion 
that  finally  drove  Emeline  to  a  lawyer  was  not  anger,  it 
was  just  dull  rebellion  against  the  gray,  monotonous 
level  of  her  days.  She  was  alone  when  George  was 
away  on  trips;  she  was  not  less  alone  when  he  was  in 
town.  He  had  formed  the  habit  of  joining  "the  boys" 
in  the  evening;  he  was  surly  and  noncommittal  with  his 
wife,  but  Julia,  hanging  about  the  lower  hall  door  or 
playing  with  children  in  the  street,  always  heard  a  burst 
of  laughter  as  he  joined  his  friends;  everybody  in  the 
world — except  Emeline — liked  George! 

Poor  Emeline — she  could  easily  have  held  him!  A 
little  tenderness  toward  him,  a  little  interest  in  her 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  29 

home  and  her  child,  and  George  would  have  been  won 
again.  Had  he  but  once  come  home  to  a  contented 
wife  and  a  clean  house,  George's  wavering  affection 
would  have  been  regained.  But  Emeline  was  a  loud 
mouthed,  assertive  woman  now,  noisily  set  upon  her 
own  way,  and  filled  with  a  sense  of  her  own  wrongs. 
She  had  discussed  George  too  often  with  her  friends  to 
feel  any  possible  interest  in  him  except  as  a  means  of 
procuring  sympathy.  George  bored  her  now;  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  Emeline  had  almost  decided  that  she 
would  prefer  alimony  to  George. 

Goaded  on  by  Mrs.  Povey,  and  a  young  Mrs.  Sunius, 
affectionately  known  as  Maybelle,  Emeline  went  to  see  a 
lawyer.  The  lawyer  surprised  her  by  his  considerate 
brevity.  Getting  a  divorce  was  a  very  simple  affair, 
much  better  done  than  not.  There  were  ways  to  make 
a  man  pay  his  alimony  regularly,  and  the  little  girl  would 
stay  with  her  mother,  of  course;  at  her  age  no  other 
solution  was  possible.  Emeline  felt  that  she  must 
know  how  much  expense  she  would  be  put  to,  and  was 
gratified  to  find  that  it  would  cost  her  not  more  than 
fifty  dollars.  The  lawyer  asked  her  how  soon  she  could 
get  hold  of  her  husband. 

"Why,  he'll  let  me  know  as  soon  as  he's  in  town," 
Emeline  said  vaguely;  "he'll  come  home." 

"Come  home,  eh?"  said  the  lawyer,  with  a  shrewd 
look.  "  He  knows  your  intentions,  of  course  ? " 

"He  ought  to!"  said  Emeline  with  spirit,  and  she 
began  again:  "I  don't  think  there's  a  person  in  the 
world  could  say  that  I'm  not  a  good  wife,  Mr.  Knowles! 
I  never  so  much  as  looked  at  another  man — I  swear  to 
God  I  never  did!  And  there's  no  other  man  in  the  case. 
If  I  can  have  my  dolling  little  girl,  and  just  live  quiet, 
with  a  few  friends  near  me,  that's  all  I  ask!  If  Mr. 
Page  had  his  way,  I'd  never  put  foot  out  of  doors;  but 
mind  you,  hid  be  off  with  the  boys  every  night.  And 
that  means  drink,  you  know " 

"Well,  well,"  the  young  lawyer  said  soothingly,  "I 
guess  you've  been  treated  pretty  mean,  all  right." 


30  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Emeline  went  home  to  find — somewhat  to  her 
embarrassment — that  George  had  come  in,  and  was  in 
his  happiest  mood,  and  playing  with  Julia.  Julia  had 
somehow  lost  her  babyish  beauty  now;  she  was  thin  and 
lanky,  four  teeth  were  missing,  and  even  her  glorious 
mop  of  hair  seemed  what  her  mother  called  "slinky." 

"I  landed  the  Fox  order  right  over  Colton's  head!" 
said  George. 

Emeline  said:  "I  wish  to  the  Lord  you'd  quit  opening 
that  window,  leaving  the  wind  blow  through  here  like  a 
cave!" 

"Well,  the  place  smelled  like  a  Jap's  room!"  George 
retorted,  instantly  aggressive. 

"We're  going  to  the  Park!"  Julia  chanted. 

"How  d'ye  mean  you're  going  to  the  Park?"  Emeline 
asked,  as  she  slammed  down  the  offending  window. 

"Well,  I  thought  maybe  I'd  take  her  there;  kinder  fun 
walking  round  and  seeing  things,  what?"  George  sub 
mitted. 

Emeline  shrugged.     "I  don't  care  what  you  do!" 

She  sat  down  before  a  dresser  with  a  triple  mirror, 
which  had  lately  been  added  to  the  bedroom  furniture, 
and  began  to  ruffle  the  coarse  puffs  of  her  black  hair 
with  slim,  ringed  fingers. 

"You've  got  something  better  to  do,  of  course!" 
George  said. 

"Don't  go  to  a  mat'nee,  Mother!"  said  Julia,  coming 
to  lean  coaxingly  against  her  mother's  arm.  Emeline 
looked  down  at  the  pale,  intelligent  little  face,  and  gave 
the  child  a  sudden  kiss. 

"Mama  isn't  going  to  a  matinee,  doll  baby.  But 
papa  ain't  as  crazy  for  her  to  go  to  the  Park  as  you  are!" 
she  said,  with  an  oblique  and  challenging  glance  at 
George. 

"Oh,  come  on!"  George  urged  impatiently.  "Only 
don't  wear  that  rotten  hat,"  he  added.  "It  don't  look 
like  a  respectable  woman!" 

Emeline's  expression  did  not  change,  but  fury  seethed 
within  her. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  31 

Don't  wait  for  me,"  she  said  levelly.     "I'm  not 
~ 


rell,  put  the  kid's  hat  on  then,"  George  suggested, 
settling  his  own  with  some  care  at  the  mantel  mirror. 

"Get  your  hand-embroidered  dress  out  of  your 
drawer,  Julia,"  said  her  mother,  "and  the  hat  Aunt 
Maybelle  gave  you!" 

"I'm  going  to  Cass's  to  telephone,  and  I  need  some 
cigarettes,"  George  announced  from  the  door.  "I'll  be 
back  in  five  minutes  for  Julie." 

"Don't  forget  to  get  a  drink  while  you're  in  Cass's," 
Emeline  reminded  him,  as  she  flung  an  embroidered 
dress  over  Julia's  limp  little  draggled  petticoats. 
George's  answer  was  a  violent  slamming  of  the  hall  door. 

Julia's  little  face  was  radiant  as  her  mother  tied  on  a 
soiled  white  straw  bonnet  covered  with  roses,  and  put 
a  cologne-soaked  handkerchief  into  the  pocket  of  her 
blue  velvet  coat.  The  little  girl  did  not  have  many 
pleasures;  there  were  very  few  children  in  the  neigh 
bourhood,  and  Julia  was  not  very  strong;  she  easily 
caught  colds  in  dark  O'Farrell  Street,  or  in  the  draughty 
hall.  All  winter  long  she  had  been  hanging  over  the 
coal  fire  in  the  front  room,  or  leaning  against  the  win 
dow  watching  the  busy  street  below — but  to-day  was 
spring!  Sunlight  glorified  even  the  dreary  aspect  from 
the  windows  above  "J.  Cassidy's"  saloon,  and  the 
glorious  singing  freshness  of  the  breeze,  the  heavenly 
warmth  of  the  blue  air,  had  reached  Julia's  little  heart. 

When  she  was  quite  dressed,  and  was  standing  at  the 
window  patiently  watching  for  her  father,  Emeline 
came  and  stood  beside  her. 

"I'll  tell  you  what!"  said  Emeline  suddenly.  ?  'Til 
go,  too!  It's  too  grand  to  be  indoors  to-day;  we'll  just 
go  out  to  the  Park  and  take  in  the  whole  show!  And 
then  perhaps  papa'll  take  us  somewhere  to  dinner!" 
^  She  began  swiftly  to  dress,  pinning  on  a  hat  that 
George  liked,  and  working  on  long  gray  kid  gloves  as  a 
complement  to  a  gray  gown.  Then  she  came  to  stand 
behind  Julia  again,  and  both  watched  the  street. 


32  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"I  guess  he's  waiting  for  his  change?"  suggested 
Julia,  and  Emeline  laughed. 

"We'll  walk  over  and  take  the  Geary  Street  car," 
said  she.  "We'll  go  right  to  the  fountain,  and  get 
dummy  seats.  And  we  could  have  dinner  at  the 
Poodle  Dog- 

"Here  he  comes!"  Julia  cried.  And  indeed  George 
was  to  be  seen  for  a  moment,  between  two  friends, 
standing  on  the  corner. 

A  long  wait  ensued.  Then  steps  came  up  the  stairs. 
Emeline,  followed  by  Julia,  went  to  the  door.  It  was 
not  George,  but  a  note  from  George,  delivered  by 
Henny,  of  Cassidy's  saloon. 

"Dear  Em,"  Emeline  read,  "a  couple  of  the  fel 
lows  want  me  to  go  to  Emeryville,  have  dinner  at 
Tony's,  and  sit  in  a  little  game  afterward.  Tell  Julie 
I  will  take  her  to  the  Park  to-morrow — and  buy  her 
anything  she  wants.  George." 

"Thanks,  Henny,"  Emeline  said,  without  visible 
emotion.  But  Julia's  lip  quivered,  and  she  burst  into 
bitter  crying.  Six-years-old  knows  no  to-morrows,  and 
Julia  tasted  the  bitterness  of  despair.  She  cried  .'quietly, 
her  little  body  screwed  into  a  big  armchair,  her  face 
hidden  in  the  crook  of  a  thin  little  arm.  Emeline 
stood  it  as  long  as  she  could,  then  she  slapped  and  shook 
Julia  to  stop  her,  and  Julia  strangled  and  shrieked 
hysterically. 

Peace  was  presently  restored,  and  Julia  was  asked  if 
she  would  like  to  go  see  her  Auntie  Mame,  and  as 
sented  with  a  hiccough.  So  her  mottled  little  face  was 
wiped  with  a  soggy  gray  towel,  and  her  bonnet  straight 
ened,  and  they  set  out. 

Mrs.  Povey  was  so  sympathetic  that  Emeline  stayed 
with  her  for  dinner,  a  casual  meal  which  Myrtle  Mon 
tague  and  a  sister  actress  came  in  to  share.  Julia  sat 
with  them  at  table,  and  stuffed  solemnly  on  fresh 
bread  and  cheese,  crab  salad  and  smoked  beef,  hot 
tomato  sauce  and  delicious  coffee.  The  coffee  came  to 
table  in  a  battered  tin  pot,  and  the  cream  was  poured 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  33 

into  the  cups  from  the  little  dairy  bottle,  with  its  metal 
top,  but  Julia  saw  these  things  as  little  as  any  one  else — 
as  little  as  she  saw  the  disorderly  welter  of  theatrical 
effects  in  the  Poveys'  neglected  rooms,  the  paint  on  the 
women's  faces,  the  ugly  violence  and  coarseness  of  their 
talk. 

But  she  did  see  that  they  were  an  impulsive,  warm 
hearted,  generous  set.  Nobody  ever  spoke  crossly  to 
her,  she  was  given  the  freedom  of  their  rooms,  she  lis 
tened  to  their  chatter,  she  was  often  caught  up  for  em 
braces  heavy  with  cologne;  they  loved  to  dress  her  up 
in  preposterous  costumes,  and  shouted  with  laughter  at 
the  sight  of  her  in  Dolly  Varden  bonnets,  Scotch  kilts, 
or  spectacles  and  wigs.  "Baby  doll/'  "Lovey,"  and 
"Honey  Babe"  were  Julia's  names  here,  and  she  was  a 
child  hungry  for  love  and  eager  to  earn  it.  To-night 
she  ate  her  supper  in  that  silence  so  grateful  to  grown 
people,  and  afterward  found  some  stage  jewellery  and 
played  with  it  until  her  head  was  too  heavy  to  hold  up 
any  longer.  Then  she  went  to  sleep  upon  an  odorous 
couch  piled  deep  with  all  sorts  of  odd  garments, 
her  feet  thrust  into  a  tangle  of  lifeless  satin  pillows, 
her  head  upon  the  fur  lining  of  some  old  cape,  a 
banjo  prodding  her  uncomfortably  whenever  she 
stirred. 

Julia — all  pins  and  needles — was  presently  jerked  up 
into  a  glare  of  lights,  and  tied  into  the  rose-crowned 
bonnet,  and  buttoned  into  the  velvet  coat  again.  She 
had  not  been  covered  as  she  slept,  and  sneezed  and 
shivered  in  the  cold  night  air.  Emeline  walked  along 
briskly,  and  Julia  stumbled  beside  her.  The  child  was 
in  such  an  agony  of  fatigue  and  chill  that  every  separate 
step  toward  bed  was  dreaded  by  this  time.  She  fell 
against  her  mother,  as  Emeline  tore  off  shoes  and  stock 
ings,  stretched  blundering,  blind  little  arms  for  her 
nightgown  sleeves,  and  sank  deliciously  against  her 
pillows,  already  more  than  half  asleep. 

But  Emeline  sat  wide  eyed,  silent,  waiting  for 
George. 


34  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

George  did  not  come  home  at  all  that  night.  On  the 
next  afternoon — Sunday  afternoon — Julia  was  playing 
in  the  street  with  two  other  small  girls.  Their  game 
was  simple.  The  three  huddled  into  the  deep  doorway 
that  led  to  Julia's  home,  clinging  tight  to  each  other, 
laughing  and  shouting.  Then  at  a  given  signal  they 
rushed  screaming  forth,  charged  across  the  street  as  if 
pursued  by  a  thousand  furies,  and  took  shelter  in  a  sim 
ilar  doorway,  next  to  the  saloon  across  the  street.  This 
performance  had  been  repeated,  back  and  forth,  per 
haps  a  dozen  times,  when  Julia  found  her  father  way 
laying  her. 

"Where  y'  going?"  asked  Julia,  noticing  that  he 
carried  a  hand  bag. 

George  sat  down  on  the  dirty  cement  steps  that  con 
nected  his  dwelling  with  the  sidewalk,  and  drew  Julia 
between  his  knees. 

"I've  got  to  go  away,  baby,"  said  he  soberly. 

"And  ain't  choo  going  to  take  me  to  the  Park — 
never?"  asked  Julia,  with  a  trembling  lip. 

George  freed  a  lock  of  her  hair  that  had  gotten  caught 
in  her  collar,  with  clumsy,  gentle  fingers. 

"Mama's  mad  at  me,  and  I'm  going  away  for  a 
while,  Babe,"  said  he,  clearing  his  throat.  "But  you 
be  a  good  girl,  and  I'll  come  take  you  to  the  Park  some 
day." 

Something  in  the  gravity  of  his  tone  impressed  Julia. 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  go  away,"  she  said  tear 
fully.  George  got  up  hastily. 

"Come  on,  walk  with  Pop  to  the  car,"  he  com 
manded,  and  Julia  trotted  contentedly  beside  him  to 
Market  Street.  There  she  gave  him  a  child's  soft,  im 
personal  kiss,  staring  up  at  the  buildings  opposite  as 
she  did  so.  George  jumped  on  a  cable  car,  wedged  his 
bag  under  his  knees  as  he  took  a  seat  on  the  dummy,  and 
looked  back  at  the  little  figure  that  was  moving  toward 
the  dingy  opening  of  O'Farrell  Street,  and  at  the  spring 
sunshine,  bright  on  the  child's  hair. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  SUMMER  the  rear  parlour  that  was  Mrs.  Page's  bed 
room  was  a  rather  dim  and  dreary  place;  such  light  as 
it  had  fell  through  one  long,  high  window  that  gave 
only  upon  a  narrow  air  shaft;  it  was  only  in  mid-July 
that  the  actual  sunlight — a  bright  and  fleeting  triangle 
— touched  the  worn  red  carpet  and  the  curly-maple 
bed.  In  winter  the  window  gave  almost  no  light  at  all. 
Julia  dressed  by  gaslight  ten  months  out  of  the  year, 
and  had  to  sit  up  in  her  warm  blankets  and  stare  at  the 
clock  on  a  certain  January  morning  in  her  fifteenth 
year,  to  make  sure  whether  it  said  twenty  minutes  of 
eleven  or  five  minutes  of  eight  o'clock.  It  was  five 
minutes  of  eight — no  mistake  about  it — but  eight 
o'clock  was  early  for  the  Pages,  mother  and  daughter. 
Julia  sighed,  and  cautiously  stretched  forth  an  arm,  a 
bare,  shapely  little  arm,  with  bangles  on  the  round  wrist 
and  rings  on  the  smooth  fingers,  and  picked  a  book 
from  the  floor.  Cautiously  settling  herself  on  the  pil 
lows  she  plunged  into  her  novel,  now  and  then  pushing 
back  a  loose  strand  of  hair,  or  bringing  her  pretty  finger 
nails  close  to  her  eyes  for  an  admiring  and  critical 
scrutiny. 

An  hour  passed — another  hour.  The  clock  in  the 
front  room  struck  a  silvery  ten.  Then  Julia  slammed 
her  book  noisily  together,  and  gave  a  sharp  push  to  the 
recumbent  form  beside  her. 

"Ah — no — darling!"  moaned  Mrs.  Page,  tortured 
out  of  dreams.  "  Don't — Julie 

"Aw,  wake  up,  Mama!"  the  daughter  urged.  Where 
upon  the  older  woman  rolled  on  her  back,  yawned  luxu 
riously,  and  said,  quite  composedly: 

"Hello,  darling!     What  time  is  it?" 

85 


36  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Emeline  had  aged  in  seven  years;  she  looked  hope 
lessly  removed  from  youth  and  beauty  now,  but  later 
in  the  day,  when  her  hair  would  be  taken  out  of  its 
crimping  kids,  her  sallow  cheeks  touched  with  rouge, 
and  her  veined  neck  covered  by  a  high  collar,  a  coral 
chain,  and  an  ostrich-feather  ruff,  some  traces  of  her 
former  good  looks  might  be  visible.  She  still  affected 
tight  corsets,  high  heels,  enormous  hats.  But  Emeline's 
interest  in  her  own  appearance  was  secondary  now  to 
her  fierce  pride  and  faith  in  Julia's  beauty.  Drifting 
along  the  line  of  least  resistance,  asking  only  to  be 
comfortable  and  to  have  a  good  time,  Emeline  had 
come  to  a  bitter  attitude  of  resentment  toward  George, 
toward  the  fate  that  had  "forced"  her  to  leave  him. 
Now  she  began  lazily  to  fasten  upon  Julia  as  the  means 
of  gratifying  those  hopes  and  ambitions  that  were  vain 
for  herself.  Julia  was  beautiful,  Julia  would  be  a  great 
success,  and  some  day  would  repay  her  mother  for  the 
sacrifices  she  had  made  for  her  child. 

Emeline  dressed,  went  about,  flirted,  and  gossiped 
still;  she  liked  cocktails  and  cards  and  restaurant  din 
ners;  she  was  an  authority  on  all  things  theatrical;  her 
favourite  pose  was  that  of  the  martyred  mother.  "All 
I  have  left,"  Emeline  would  say,  kissing  her  daughter 
effectively,  before  strangers.  "And  only  God  knows 
what  it  has  cost  me  to  keep  my  girlie  with  me!" 

Julia  would  grin  good-naturedly  at  this.  She  had  no 
hallucinations  about  her  mother.  She  knew  her  own 
value,  knew  she  was  pretty,  and  was  glad  with  the  sim 
ple  and  pathetic  complacence  of  fourteen.  Julia  at 
eight  had  gone  to  dancing  school,  in  the  briefest  skirts 
ever  seen  on  a  small  girl,  and  the  dirtiest  white  silk 
stockings.  She  had  sung  a  shrill  little  song,  and 
danced  a  little  dance  at  a  public  benefit  for  the  widows 
of  three  heroic  firemen,  when  she  was  only  nine.  Her 
lovely  mop  had  been  crimped  out  of  all  natural  wave; 
her  youthful  digestion  menaced  by  candy  and  chewing 
gum;  her  naturally  rather  sober  and  pensive  disposition 
completely  altered,  or  at  least  eclipsed.  Julia  could 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  37 

chatter  of  the  stage,  could  give  a  pert  answer  to  whoever 
accosted  her,  could  tell  a  dressmaker  exactly  how  she 
wanted  a  gown  made,  at  twelve.  While  her  mother 
slept  in  the  morning,  before  the  girl  learned  to  sleep  late, 
too,  the  child  would  get  up  and  slip  out.  Her  play 
ground  was  O'Farrell  Street,  dry  and  hot  in  summer, 
wrapped  in  soft  fog  four  mornings  a  week  the  year 
round,  reeking  of  stale  beer,  and  echoing  to  the  rattle 
of  cable  cars.  The  little  Julia  flitted  about  everywhere: 
watching  janitors  as  they  hosed  down  the  sidewalks 
outside  the  saloons,  or  rinsed  cuspidors;  watching  gro 
cers  set  out  their  big  signs  for  the  day;  watching  little 
restaurants  open,  and  first  comers  sit  down  to  great 
cups  of  coffee  and  plates  of  hot  cakes.  Perhaps  the 
sight  of  food  would  remind  the  little  girl  of  her  own 
empty  stomach;  she  would  straggle  home  just  as  the 
first  sunshine  was  piercing  the  fog,  and  loiter  upstairs, 
and  peep  into  the  bedroom  to  see  what  the  chances  of 
a  meal  might  be. 

Emeline  usually  rolled  over  to  smile  at  her  daughter 
when  she  heard  the  door  open,  and  Julia  would  be  sent 
to  the  delicatessen  store  for  the  component  parts  of 
a  substantial  meal.  Julia  loved  the  cramped,  clean, 
odorous  shop  that  smelled  of  wet  wood  and  mixed 
mustard  pickles  and  smoked  fish.  A  little  cream  bot 
tle  would  be  filled  from  an  immense  can  at  her  request, 
the  shopkeeper's  wife  wiping  it  with  a  damp  rag  and  a 
bony  hand.  And  the  pat  of  butter,  and  the  rolls,  and 
the  sliced  ham,  and  the  cheese — Herr  Bauer  scratched 
their  prices  with  a  stubby  pencil  on  an  oily  bit  of  paper, 
checked  their  number  by  the  number  of  bundles,  gave 
Julia  the  buttery  change,  and  Julia  hurried  home  for  a 
delicious  loitering  breakfast  with  her  mother.  Eme 
line,  still  in  her  limp,  lace-trimmed  nightgown,  with  a 
spotted  kimono  hanging  loosely  over  it,  and  her  hair  a 
wildly  tousled  mass  at  the  top  of  her  head,  presided  at  a 
clear  end  of  the  kitchen  table.  She  and  Julia  occupied 
only  two  rooms  of  the  original  apartment  now;  a  young 
lawyer,  with  his  wife  and  child,  had  the  big  front  room, 


38  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  the  dining-room  was  occupied  by  two  mysterious 
young  men  who  came  and  went  for  years  without  ever 
betraying  anything  of  their  own  lives  to  their  neighbours. 
Julia  only  knew  that  they  were  young,  quiet,  hard 
working,  and  of  irreproachable  habits. 

But  she  knew  the  people  in  the  front  room  quite  well. 
Mrs.  Raymond  Toomey  was  a  neat,  bright,  hopeful 
little  woman,  passionately  devoted  to  her  husband  and 
her  spoiled,  high-voiced  little  son.  Raymond  Toomey 
was  a  big,  blustering  fool  of  a  man,  handsome  in  a 
coarse  sort  of  way,  noisy,  shallow,  and  opinionated. 
Whenever  there  were  races,  the  Toomeys  went  to  the 
races,  taking  the  precocious  "Lloydy,"  in  his  velvet 
Fauntleroy  suit  and  tasselled  shoes,  and  taking  "Baby," 
a  shivering  little  terrier  with  wet,  terrified  eyes.  Some 
times  Mrs.  Toomey  came  out  to  the  kitchen  in  the 
morning,  to  curl  her  ostrich  feathers  over  the  gas  stove, 
or  join  Mrs.  Page  in  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"God,  girlie,  that  goes  to  the  spot,"  she  would  yawn, 
stirring  her  cup,  both  elbows  on  the  table.  "We  had  a 
fierce  day  yesterday,  and  Ray  took  a  little  too  much 
last  night — you  know  how  men  are!  He  had  a  stable 
tip  yesterday,  and  went  the  limit — like  a  fool!  I  play 
hunches — there's  no  such  thing  as  a  tip!" 

And  sometimes  she  would  put  a  little  printed  list  of 
entries  before  Julia  and  say: 

"Pick  me  a  winner,  darling.  Go  on — just  pick  any 
one!" 

Julia  soon  reached  the  age  when  she  could  get  her  own 
breakfast,  and  then,  mingled  with  a  growing  appreciation 
of  the  girl's  beauty,  her  mother  felt  that  gratitude  always 
paid  by  an  indolent  person  to  one  of  energy.  She  knew 
that  her  child  was  finer  than  she  was,  prettier,  more 
clever,  more  refined.  She  herself  had  never  had  any 
reserves;  she  had  always  screamed  or  shouted  or  cried  or 
run  away  when  things  crossed  her,  but  she  saw  Julia 
daily  displaying  self-control  and  composure  such  as  she 
had  never  known.  There  were  subtleties  in  Julia:  her 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  39 

sweet  firm  young  mouth  closed  over  the  swift-coming 
words  she  would  not  say,  her  round,  round  blue  eyes 
were  wiser  already  than  her  mother's  eyes. 

The  girl  had  grown  very  handsome.  Her  joyous, 
radiant  colouring  was  contradicted  by  her  serious  ex 
pression,  her  proud,  unsmiling  mouth.  Her  eyes  were 
dark,  her  colouring  softly  dark;  she  had  the  velvety, 
tawny  skin  that  usually  accompanies  dark  hair.  Yet 
her  hair  was  a  pure  and  exquisite  gold.  She  wore  it 
fluffed  over  her  ears,  cut  in  a  bang  across  her  forehead, 
and  "clubbed"  on  her  neck,  in  a  rather  absurd  and 
artificial  fashion.  But  the  effect  of  her  grave  little  face 
and  severe  expression,  with  this  opulent  gold,  and  her 
red  lips  and  round  blue  eyes,  was  very  piquant.  Even 
powder,  earrings,  and  "clubbing"  her  hair  did  not  rob 
Julia  of  the  appearance  of  a  sweet,  wilful,  and  petulant 
child.  Besides  the  powder  and  earrings,  she  indulged  in 
cologne,  in  open-work  silk  stockings  and  high  heels,  in 
chains  and  rings  and  bracelets;  she  wore  little  corsets,  at 
fourteen,  and  laced  them  tight. 

Julia's  mind,  at  this  time,  was  a  curious  little  whirl 
pool.  She  had  the  natural  arrogance  of  her  years;  she 
felt  that  she  had  nothing  to  learn.  She  had  an  affection 
ate  contempt  for  her  mother,  and  gave  advice  more 
often  than  she  accepted  it  from  Emeline.  Julia  naturally 
loved  order  and  cleanliness,  but  she  never  came  in 
contact  with  them.  Emeline  sometimes  did  not  air  or 
make  her  bed  for  weeks  at  a  time.  She  washed  only 
such  dishes  as  were  absolutely  necessary  for  the  next 
meal.  She  never  sent  out  a  bundle  to  the  laundry,  but 
washed  handkerchiefs  and  some  underwear  herself,  at 
erratic  intervals,  drying  them  on  windows,  or  the  backs 
of  various  chairs.  Emeline  always  had  a  pair  or  more 
of  silk  stockings  soaking  in  a  little  bowl  of  cold  suds  in 
the  bedroom,  and  occasionally  carried  a  waist  or  a  lace 
petticoat  to  the  little  French  laundress  on  Powell  Street, 
and  drove  a  sharp  bargain  with  her.  Julia  accepted  the 
situation  very  cheerfully;  she  and  her  mother  both 
enjoyed  their  lazy,  aimless  existence,  and  to  Julia,  at 


40  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

least,  the  future  was  full  of  hope.     She  could  do  any  one 
of  a  dozen  things  that  would  lead  to  fame  and  fortune. 

The  particular  day  that  opened  for  her  with  two 
hours  of  quiet  reading  progressed  like  any  other  day. 
The  mother  and  daughter  arose,  got  their  breakfast  in 
the  kitchen,  and  sat  long  over  it,  sharing  the  papers,  the 
hot  coffee,  the  cream,  and  dividing  evenly  the  little 
French  loaf.  Julia's  nightgown  was  as  limp  as  her 
mother's,  her  kimono  as  dirty,  and  her  feet  were  thrust 
in  fur  slippers,  originally  white,  now  gray.  But  her 
fresh  young  colour,  and  the  rich  loops  and  waves  of  her 
golden  hair,  her  firm  young  breasts  under  her  thin  wraps, 
and  the  brave  blue  of  her  eyes  made  her  a  very  different 
picture  from  her  mother,  who  sat  opposite,  a  vision  of 
disorder,  feasting  her  eyes  upon  the  girl. 

There  was  a  murder  story,  of  which  mother  and 
daughter  read  every  word,  and  a  society  wedding  to 
discuss. 

"The  Chases  went,"  said  Julia,  dipping  her  bread  in 
her  coffee,  her  eyes  on  the  paper.  "Isn't  that  the 
limit!" 

"Why,  Marian  Chase  was  a  bridesmaid,  Julie!" 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  I  didn't  think  the  Byron 
Chases  would  go  to  Maude  Pennell's  wedding!  But 
of  course  she's  marrying  an  Addison — that  helps. 
'Mrs.  Byron  Chase,  lavender  brocade  and  pearls," 
read  Julia.  "Well,  Maude  Pennell  is  getting  in,  all 
right!" 

"What'd  Mrs.  Joe  Coutts  wear?"  Emeline  asked. 
Among  the  unknown  members  of  the  city's  smartest  set 
she  had  her  favourites. 

"Mrs.  Joseph  Foulke  Coutts,'"  Julia  read  obligingly. 
"Red  velvet  robe  trimmed  with  fox." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Julie — with  that  red  face!" 

"And  Miss  Victoria  Coutts  in  pink  silk — she's  had 
that  dress  for  a  year  now,"  Julia  said.  "Well,  Lord!" 
She  yawned  luxuriously.  "I  wouldn't  marry  Roy 
Addison  if  he  was  made  of  money — the  bum!"  She 

i 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  41 

pushed  the  paper  carelessly  aside.  "What  you  going 
to  do  to-day,  Ma?"  she  asked  lazily. 

"Oh,  go  out,"  Emeline  answered  vaguely,  still  reading 
a  newspaper  paragraph.  "Gladys  has  had  to  pay  over 
a  quarter  of  a  million  for  that  feller's  debts!"  said  she, 
awed. 

"Well,  that's  what  you  get  for  marrying  a  duke," 
Julia  answered  scornfully.  "Let's  pile  these,  Ma,  and 
get  dressed." 

They  went  into  the  bedroom,  where  the  gas  was 
lighted  again,  the  bureau  pushed  out  from  the  wall,  that 
the  mirror  might  catch  the  best  light,  and  where,  in  un 
speakable  confusion,  mother  and  daughter  began  to 
dress.  Julia  put  on  her  smart  little  serge  skirt,  pushing 
it  down  over  her  hips  with  both  hands.  Then  she  fixed 
her  hair  carefully,  adjusted  her  hat,  tied  on  a  spotted 
white  veil,  and  finally  slipped  into  a  much-embroidered 
silk  shirtwaist,  which  mother  and  daughter  decided  was 
dirty,  but  would  "do."  Rings,  bangles,  and  chains  fol 
lowed,  a  pair  of  long  limp  gloves,  a  final  powdering,  and 
a  ruff  of  pink  feathers.  Julia  was  not  fifteen  and  looked 
fully  seventeen,  to  her  great  delight.  She  gave  herself  a 
sober  yet  approving  glance  in  the  mirror;  the  corners  of 
her  firm  yet  babyish  mouth  twitched  with  pleasure. 

She  locked  the  doors,  set  an  empty  milk  bottle  out  on 
the  unspeakably  dreary  back  stairway,  and  flung  the 
soggy  bedding  over  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Then  mother 
and  daughter  sauntered  out  into  the  noontime  sun 
shine. 

It  was  their  happiest  time,  as  free  and  as  irresponsible 
as  children  they  went  forth  to  meet  the  day's  adven 
tures.  Something  was  sure  to  happen,  the  "crowd" 
would  have  some  plan;  they  rarely  came  home  again 
before  midnight.  But  this  sunshiny  start  into  the  day 
was  most  pleasant  of  all,  its  freshness,  its  potentialities, 
appealed  to  them  both.  It  was  a  February  day,  warm 
and  bright,  yet  with  a  delicious  tingle  in  the  air. 

"Leave  us  go  up  to  Min's,  Julie;  some  of  the  girls  are 
sure  to  be  there.  There's  no  mat.  to-day." 


42  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Well "     Julia  was  smiling  aimlessly  at  the  sun 
light.     Now  she  patted  back  a  yawn.     "Walk?" 
"Oh,  sure.     It's  lovely  out." 

It  was  tacitly  understood  that  Julia  was  to  be  an 
actress  some  day,  when  she  was  older,  and  the  board 
ing-house  of  Mrs.  Minnie  Tarbury,  to  which  the  Pages 
were  idly  sauntering,  was  inhabited  almost  entirely 
by  theatrical  folk.  Emeline  and  Julia  were  quite  at 
home  in  the  shabby  overcrowded  house  in  Eddy  Street, 
and  to-day  walked  in  at  the  basement  door,  under  a 
flight  of  wooden  stairs  that  led  to  the  parlour  floor,  and 
surprised  the  household  at  lunch  in  the  dark,  bay- 
windowed  front  room. 

Mrs.  Tarbury,  a  large,  uncorseted  woman,  presided. 
Her  boarders,  girls  for  the  most  part,  were  scattered 
down  the  long  table.  Luncheon  was  properly  over,  but 
the  girls  were  still  gossiping  over  their  tea.  Flies 
buzzed  in  the  sunny  window,  and  the  rumpled  table 
cloth  was  covered  with  crumbs.  Mrs.  Tarbury  kissed 
Mrs.  Page,  and  Julia  settled  down  between  two  affec 
tionate  chorus  girls. 

"You  know  you're  getting  to  be  the  handsomest 
thing  that  ever  lived,  Ju!"  said  one  of  these.  Julia 
smiled  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  knives  and  forks 
with  which  she  was  absently  playing. 

"She's  got  the  blues  to-day,"  said  her  mother.  "Not 
a  word  out  of  her ! " 

"Is  that  right,  Ju?"  somebody  asked  solicitously. 

"Just  about  as  right  as  Mama  ever  gets  it,"  the 
girl  said,  still  with  her  indifferent  smile.  Because  her 
mother  was  shallow  and  violent,  she  had  learned  to  like  a 
pose  of  silence,  of  absent-mindedness,  and  because  of  the 
small  yet  sufficient  income  afforded  by  the  rented  rooms 
and  from  alimony,  Julia  was  removed  from  the  necessity 
that  drove  these  other  girls  to  the  hard  and  constant 
work  of  the  stage,  and  could  afford  her  favourite  air  of 
fastidious  waiting.  She  was  going  to  be  an  actress,  yes, 
but  not  until  some  plum  worthy  of  her  beauty  and  youth 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  43 

was  offered.  Meanwhile  she  listened  to  the  others, 
followed  the  history  of  the  favourites  of  the  stage 
eagerly,  and  never  saw  less  than  four  shows  a  week. 
Julia,  at  Juliet's  age,  had  her  own  ideas  as  to  the  in 
terpretation  of  the  Balcony  Scene,  and  could  tell  why 
she  thought  the  art  of  Miss  Rehan  less  finished  than 
that  of  Madame  Modjeska.  But  personally  she  lacked 
ambition,  in  this  direction  at  least. 

However,  she  joined  in  the  girls'  talk  with  great  zest; 
a  manager  was  to  be  put  in  his  place,  and  several  theories 
were  advanced  as  to  his  treatment. 

"I  swear  to  God  if  Max  don't  give  me  twenty  lines  in 
the  next,  I'll  go  on  to  New  York,"  said  a  Miss  Connie 
Girard  dispassionately.  "There's  a  party  I  know  there 
rents  a  house  that  Frohman  owns,  and  he'd  give  me  a 
letter.  What  I  want  is  a  Broadway  success." 

"That  time  we  played  —  you  know,  seven  weeks 
running,  in  Portland,"  said  a  stout,  aging  actress,  "the 
time  my  little  dance  made  such  a  hit,  you  know  -  " 

"Mind  jer,  Max  never  come  near  us  this  morning," 
interrupted  a  Miss  Rose  Ransome  firmly.  "Because 
he  knew  what  he  done,  and  he  wasn't  looking  for 
trouble!  He  wrote  a  notice  -  " 

"One  of  the  Portland  papers,  in  c'menting  on  the 
show  -  "  the  dancer  resumed. 

"Say,  Julie,  want  to  walk  down  to  Kearney  with  me  ?' 
Miss  Girard   said,  jumping  up.     "I  want  to  get  my 
corsets,  and  we  might  drop  in  and  see  if  we  can  work 
Foster  for  some  seats  for  to-night." 

"I've  got  a  date  to-night,"  said  Julia,  with  a  glance 
at  her  mother. 

"What's  that?"  Emeline  said  sharply. 

"Why,  Mama,  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  theOrpheum 
with  the  Rosenthals— 


"She's  going  with  the  whole  bunch,"  Mrs.  Page 
mented,  with  a  shrug.    "  I  can't  stand  them,  but  she  can  !  " 

"I  think  Mark  Rosenthal's  a  darling,"  some  girl  said, 
"I  want  to  tell  you  right  now  there's  not  anybody  can 
play  the  piano  as  good  as  he  can." 


44  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"That's  right,"  Julia  said,  very  low. 

"Well,  excuse  me  from  the  bunch!"  Mrs.  Page  said 
lazily. 

"But  we've  got  a  real  pretty  little  blush,  just  the 
same!"  Mrs.  Tarbury  said,  smiling  at  Julia.  The  girls 
shouted,  and  Julia  grew  still  more  red.  "Never  mind, 
baby  love!"  said  the  older  woman  soothingly.  "It's 
just  Aunt  Min's  nonsense!  Say,  but  listen,  Julia!" 
Her  tone  grew  suddenly  intense.  "I  meant  to  ask  you 
something — listen.  Say,  no  fooling,  Artheris  wants  to 
know  if  you  would  take  a  job." 

"Twenty  a  week,  and  twenty  towns  a  month,"  Julia 
said,  still  ruffled.  "No,  I  would  not!" 

"No,  this  isn't  anything  like  that,  dearie,"  explained 
Mrs.  Tarbury.  "There's  going  to  be  a  big  amachure 
show  for  charity  at  the  Grand  next  month,  and  they 
want  a  few  professionals  in  it,  to  buck  up  the  others. 
All  the  swells  are  going  to  be  in  it — it's  going  to  be  some 
thing  elegant!  Of  course  they'd  pay  something,  and 
it'd  be  a  lot  of  fun  for  you!  Artheris  wants  you  to  do 
it,  and  it  wouldn't  hurt  you  none  to  have  him  on  your 
side,  Julia.  I  promised  I'd  talk  to  you." 

"One  performance?"  Julia   asked.     "What  play?" 

"I'd  do  it  in  a  minute,"  said  the  stout  actress  from 
Portland,  whose  dance  had  been  so  gratifying  a  success, 
"but  I'm  signed  up." 

"One  night,  dear,"  Mrs.  Tarbury  said.  "I  don't 
think  they've  decided  on  the  play." 

"I  don't  know,"  Julia  hesitated.  "What  d'ye  think, 
Mama?" 

"I  think  he's  got  his  gall  along,"  Mrs.  Page  admitted. 
"One  night! — -and  to  learn  the  whole  thing  for  that. 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  tell  him — you  tell  him  this:  you 
say  that  you  can't  do  it  for  one  cent  less'n  a  hundred 
dollars!" 

"Lay  down,  Towse!"  said  Connie  Girard,  and  Mrs. 
Tarbury  expressed  the  same  incredulity  as  she  said 
benevolently:  "What  a  pipe  dream,  Em — she's  lucky 
.if  she  gets  ten!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  45 

"Ten!"  squeaked  Julia's  mother,  but  Julia  silenced 
her  by  saying  carelessly: 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Aunt  Min.  If  Con  and  I  get 
through  in  time  we'll  go  in  and  see  Artheris  to-day. 
I'd  do  it  for  twenty-five " 

"You  would  not!"  said  her  mother. 

"Well,  you  might  get  twenty-five,"  Mrs.  Tarbury 
said,  mollified,  "if  it's  a  long  part." 

"If  it  don't  take  a  lot  of  dressing,"  Julia  said  thought 
fully,  as  she  and  Miss  Girard  powdered  their  noses  at 
the  dark  mirror  of  the  sideboard. 

"Don't  you  be  fool  enough  to  do  it  for  a  cent  under 
fifty,"  Emeline  said. 

Julia  smiled  at  her  vaguely,  and  added  to  her  fare 
wells  a  daughterly,  "Your  hat's  all  right,  Mama,  but 
your  veil's  sort  of  caught  up  over  your  ear.  Fix  it  be 
fore  you  go  out.  We'll  be  back  here  at  five " 

"Or  we'll  meet  you  at  Monte's,"  said  Connie. 

The  two  girls  walked  briskly  down  Eddy  Street,  con 
scious  of  their  own  charms,  and  conscious  of  the  world 
about  them.  Connie  was  nearly  nineteen,  a  simple, 
happy  little  flirt,  who  had  been  in  and  out  of  love  con 
stantly  for  three  or  four  years.  Julia  knew  her  very 
well,  and  admired  her  heartily.  Connie  had  twice  had 
a  speaking  part  in  the  past  year,  and  the  younger  girl 
felt  her  to  be  well  on  her  way  toward  fame.  Miss  Gi- 
rard's  family  of  plain,  respectable  folk  lived  in  Stockton, 
and  were  somewhat  distressed  by  her  choice  of  a  voca 
tion,  but  Connie  was  really  a  rather  well-behavechgirl, 
and  a  safe  adviser  for  Julia. 

"Say,  listen,  Con,"  said  Julia,  presently,  "you  know 
Mark  Rosenthal?" 

"Sure,"  said  Connie.  " Look  here,  Ju!"  She  paused 
at  a  window.  "Don't  you  think  these  Chinese  hand 
bags  are  swell!" 

"Grand.  But  listen,  Con,"  said  Julia,  shame 
facedly  honest  as  a  boy.  "He's  got  a  case  on  me " 

'I On  you?"  echoed  Connie.     "Why,  he's  twenty!" 

"I  know  it,"  Julia  agreed. 


46  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"But,  my  Lord,  Ju,  your  Mother  won't  stand  for 
that!" 

"Mama  don't  know  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  do  that,  Ju,"  Con 
nie  began  gravely.  But  Julia,  with  sudden  angry  tears 
in  her  eyes,  stopped  her. 

"I've  not  done  anything!"  she  said  crossly.  And 
suddenly  Connie  saw  the  truth:  that  Julia,  in  spite  of 
paint  and  powder,  rings  and  "clubbed"  hair,  was  only 
a  little  girl,  after  all,  still  unsexed,  still  young  enough 
to  resent  being  teased  about  boys. 

"What's  he  do?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Well,  he — he — I  have  supper  with  them  some 
times" — Julia's  words  poured  out  eagerly — "and  he'll 
kiss  me,  you  know " 

"  Kiss  you !     The  nerve ! " 

"Oh,  before  them  all,  I  mean — like  he  always  has 
done.  His  mother  just  laughs.  And  then,  last  week, 
when  he  asked  me  to  go  to  Morosco's  with  them,  why,  it 
was  just  us  two — the  others  had  gone  somewhere  else." 

"Well,  of  all  gall!"  said  Connie,  absorbed. 

"And  I've  been  up  there  with  him  thousands  of 
times,"  said  Julia.  "Maybe  Hannah'd  be  there,  or 
Sophy,  but  sometimes  we'd  be  alone — while  he  was 
playing  the  piano,  you  know." 

"Well,  now  you  look-a-here,  Julie,"  said  Connie 
impressively,  "you  cut  out  that  being  alone  business, 
and  the  kissing,  too.  And  now  how  about  to-night? 
Are  you  sure  his  whole  family  is  going  to-night?" 

"Well,  that's  just  it,  I'm  not,"  Julia  confessed, 
flattered  by  Connie's  interest. 

"Then  you  don't  go  one  step,  my  dear;  just  you  fool 
him  a  bunch!  You  see  you're  like  a  little  boy,  Ju: 
kisses  don't  mean  nothing  to  you,  yet.  But  you'll  get 
a  crush  some  day  yourself,  and  then  you'll  feel  like  a 
fool  if  you've  got  mixed  up  with  the  wrong  one — see?" 

"Sure,"  said  Julia,  hoarse  and  embarrassed.  Yet 
she  liked  the  sensation  of  being  scolded  by  Connie,  too, 
and  tried  shyly,  as  the  conversation  seemed  inclined  to 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  47 

veer  toward  Connie's  own  affairs,  to  bring  it  back  to 
her  own. 

The  little  matter  of  the  corsets  being  settled,  they 
sauntered  through  the  always  diverting  streets  toward 
the  office  of  Leopold  Artheris,  manager  of  the  Grand 
Opera  House,  and  a  very  good  friend  of  both  girls. 

They  found  him  idle,  in  a  bright,  untidy  office,  lined 
with  the  pictures  of  stage  favourites,  and  with  three 
windows  open  to  the  sun  and  air. 

"You're  placed,  I  think,  Miss  Girard?"  said  he,  giv 
ing  her  a  fat  little  puffy  hand.  He  was  a  stout,  short 
man  of  fifty,  with  a  bald  spot  showing  under  a  mop  of 
graying  curls,  and  a  bushy  moustache  also  streaked 
with  gray. 

"If  you  call  it  placed,"  said  Connie,  grinning.  "We 
open  Monday  in  Sacramento." 

"Aha!     But  why  Sacramento?" 

"Oh,  we've  got  to  open  somewhere,  I  suppose!  Try 
it  out  on  the  dog,  you  know!"  Connie  said,  with  a  sort 
of  bored  airiness. 

"And  you,  my  dear?"  said  Artheris,  turning  toward 
Julia. 

"She's  come  to  see  you  about  that  amachure  job," 
said  Connie,  reaching  over  to  grab  a  theatrical  maga 
zine  from  the  desk,  and  running  her  eye  carelessly  over 
its  pages.  Artheris's  blandly  smiling  face  underwent  an 
instant  change.  He  elevated  his  eyebrows,  pursed  his 
lips,  and  nodded  with  sudden  interest. 

"Oh — to  be  sure — to  be  sure!  The  performance  of 
'The  Amazons'  for  the  Hospital — yes,  well!  And  what 
do  you  think  of  it,  Miss  Page  ? "  he  said. 

Julia  stretched  out  her  little  feet  before  her,  shrugged, 
and  brought  an  indifferent  eye  to  bear  upon  the  man 
ager. 

"What's  there  in  it?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  now,  that  you'd  have  to  settle  with  them," 
smiled  Mr.  Artheris. 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Connie  cheerfully.  "  You  manage 
that  for  her;  what  does  she  know?  Go  on!" 


48  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"But,  my  dear  young  lady,  /  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it!"  the  man  protested.  "They  come  to  me  and  wish 
to  hire  my  theatre,  lights,  ushers,  orchestra,  and  so,  and 
they  ask  me  if  I  know  of  a  young  actress  who  will  take 
a  part — to  give  them  all  confidence,  you  see" — he  made 
encouraging  gestures  with  his  fat  little  hands — "to — 
to  carry  the  performance,  as  it  were!" 

"What  part?"  asked  Connie  shrewdly. 

"The  part  of — of — a  splendid  part,  that  of  the  Ser 
geant,"  said  Artheris  cheerfully. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  part,"  Connie  said  grimly. 

"The  idea  is  to  have  Miss  Julie  here  understudy  all 
the  parts,"  said  the  manager  quickly.  "These  ama 
teurs  are  very  apt  to  disappoint,  do  you  see?  They 
feel  that  there  would  be  a  sense  of  security  in  having  a 
professional  right  there  to  fill  in  a  gap." 

"Why,  that  would  mean  she'd  have  to  learn  prac 
tically  the  whole  play,"  said  Connie.  "They  ought  to 
be  willing  to  pay  a  good  price  for  that.  Of  course  Miss 
Page  is  only  seventeen,"  she  continued,  a  calculating 
eye  on  Julia,  whose  appearance  did  not  belie  the  state 
ment. 

"No  objection  at  all — they  are  all  very  young!  Come 
now,  what  do  you  say,  Miss  Page?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Julia  discontentedly. 
"Fm  not  so  crazy  about  acting,"  she  went  on  child 
ishly.  "Fm  not  so  sure  I  want  all  these  swells  to 

stand  around  and  impose  on  me "  She  hesitated, 

uncertain  and  vague.  "And  I  don't  believe  Mama'd 
be  so  anxious,"  she  submitted  lamely. 

Just  then  the  door  of  Mr.  Artheris's  office  was  opened, 
and  a  man  put  in  his  head.  He  was  a  young  man,  tall, 
thin,  faultlessly  dressed,  and  possessed  of  an  infectious 
smile. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Artheris,"  beamed  the  intruder, 
"but  could  I  have  a  look  at  the  stage?  Far  be  it  from 
me  to  interrupt  or  any  little  thing  like  that,"  he  con 
tinued  easily,  "but  my  Mother'd  have  me  dragged  out 
and  shot  if  I  came  home  without  seeing  it!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  49 

"Come  in,  come  in,  Mr.  Hazzard,"  said  Artheris 
cordially;  "you're  just  the  man  we  want  to  see!  Miss 
Girard — Miss  Page — Mr.  Hazzard.  Mr.  Hazzard  is 
managing  this  very  affair — manager,  isn't  that  it?" 

"God  knows  what  I  am!"  said  Carter  Hazzard, 
mopping  his  forehead,  and  appreciative  of  Miss  Page's 
beauty  and  the  maturer  charms  of  Miss  Girard.  "I'm 
bell-hop  for  the  whole  crowd.  My  sister  plays  Thom- 
asine,  her  steady  is  Tweenwayes,  and  my  Mother's  a 
director  in  the  hospital.  Fix  it  up  to  suit  yourselves; 
you'll  see  that  I'm  every  one's  goat." 

Both  the  girls  laughed,  and  Artheris  said: 

"I  am  glad  you  came  in,  for  Miss  Page  is  the  young 
lady  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you.  Unfortunately,  it  seems 
that  she  has  just  promised  to  sign  a  contract  with  the 
Alcazar  people." 

"Oh,  shucks!  Can't  you  put  it  off  until  after  the 
fifteenth?"  asked  Mr.  Hazzard  in  alarm. 

"Too  much  money  in  it,"  Connie  said,  shaking  her 
head. 

"Well — well,  we  expected  to — to  pay,  of  course," 
Carter  said,  embarrassed  at  this  crudeness.  And 
Julia,  blushing  furiously,  muttered,  "Oh — it  wasn't 
the  pay!" 

"In  a  word,  Miss  Page's  price  is  twenty-five  dollars 
a  night,"  said  Artheris.  "Could  your  people  pay  it?" 

"Why — why,  I  suppose  we  could,"  Hazzard  said  un 
comfortably.  "It's — it's  for  a  charity,  you  know,"  he 
ended  weakly. 

"Well,  Miss  Page's  usual  price  is  fifty;  she's  already 
reduced  it  half!"  Connie  said  briskly. 

Julia  was  now  bitterly  ashamed  of  her  manager  and 
her  friend;  her  face  was  burning. 

"I'll  do  it,  of  course,"  she  promised.  "And  we'll  ar 
range  the  terms  afterward!" 

"Good  work!"  said  Hazzard  gayly.  In  a  few  mo 
ments,  when  they  all  went  out  to  look  at  the  stage,  he 
dropped  behind  the  others  and  began  to  walk  beside 
her. 


50  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

" You're  sure  you're  old  enough  to  be  on  the  stage, 
Miss  Page;  no  Gerry  Society  scandal  at  the  last  min 
ute?"  he  asked  banteringly.  "You  look  about  twelve!" 

Julia  flashed  him  an  oblique  look. 

"The  idea!  I'm  nearly  seventeen!"  she  said,  with 
an  uncertain  little  laugh.  His  ardent  eyes  embar 
rassed  her. 

"Honest?"  said  Carter  Hazzard,  in  a  low,  caressing 
tone.  He  laid  his  fingers  on  her  arm.  "What's  your 
hurry?"  he  asked. 

"We  ought  to  keep  with  the  others,"  Julia  stam 
mered,  scarlet  cheeked  but  half  laughing.  At  the  same 
instant  his  inclination  to  cut  across  her  path  brought 
her  to  a  full  stop.  She  backed  against  a  heavily  tas- 
selled  and  upholstered  old  armchair  that  chanced  to  be 
standing  in  the  wings,  and  sitting  down  on  one  of  its 
high  arms,  looked  straight  up  into  his  eyes.  The  others 
had  gone  on;  they  were  alone  in  the  draughty  wings. 

"Why  ought  we?"  said  Hazzard,  still  in  a  low  voice 
full  of  significance,  his  eyes  on  her  shoulder,  where  he 
straightened  a  ruffle  that  was  caught  under  a  chain  of 
beads.  "If  you  like  me  and  I  like  you,  why  shouldn't 
we  have  a  little  talk?" 

However  young  she  might  appear,  the  inanities  of  a 
flirtation  were  a  familiar  field  to  Julia.  She  gave  him 
a  demure  and  unsmiling  glance  from  between  curled 
lashes,  and  said: 

"What  would  you  like  to  talk  about?" 

By  this  time  their  faces  were  close  together;  a  sort  of 
heady  lightness  in  the  atmosphere  set  them  both  to 
laughing  foolishly;  their  voices  trembled  on  uncertain 
notes.  An  exhilarating  sense  of  her  own  sex  and  charm 
thrilled  Julia;  she  knew  that  he  found  her  sweet  and 
young  and  wonderful. 

"I'd  like  to  talk  about  you!"  said  Carter  Hazzard. 
Julia  found  his  audacity  delightful;  she  began  to  feel 
that  she  could  not  keep  up  with  the  dazzling  rush  of 

his  repartee.  "You  know,  the  minute  I  saw  you " 

he  added. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  51 

"Now,  don't  tell  me  I'm  pretty!"  Julia  begged,  with 
another  flashing  look. 

"No — no!"  the  man  exclaimed,  discarding  mere 
beauty  with  violence.  "Pretty!  Lord!  what  does 
prettiness  matter?  Of  course  you're  pretty,  but  do  you 
know  what  I  said  to  myself  the  minute  I  saw  you  ?  I 
said,  Til  bet  that  little  girl  has  brains  !'  You  smile," 
said  Mr.  Hazzard,  with  passionate  earnestness,  "but 
I'll  swear  to  God  I  did!" 

"Oh,  you  just  want  me  to  believe  that!"  scoffed  Julia, 
dimpling. 

What  they  said,  however,  mattered  as  little  as  what 
might  be  said  by  the  two  occupants  of  a  boat  that  was 
drifting  swiftly  toward  rapids. 

"Why  do  you  think  an  unkind  thing  like  that?" 
Carter  asked  reproachfully. 

"Was  that  unkind?"  Julia  countered  innocently.  At 
which  Mr.  Hazzard  observed  irrelevantly,  in  a  low 
voice: 

"Do  you  know  you're  absolutely  fascinating?  Do 
you?  You're  just  the  kind  of  little  girl  I  want  to  know 
— to  be  friends  with — to  have  for  a  pal!" 

Julia  was  quite  wise  enough  to  know  that  whatever 
qualifications  she  possessed  for  this  pleasing  position 
could  hardly  have  made  themselves  evident  to  Mr. 
Hazzard  during  their  very  brief  acquaintance,  and  she 
was  not  a  shade  more  sincere  than  he  as  she  answered 
coquettishly: 

"Yes,  that's  what  they  all  say!  And  then  they " 

She  stopped. 

"And  then  they — what?"  breathed  Carter,  playing 
with  the  loose  ribbons  of  her  feather  boa. 

"Then  they  fall  in  love  with  me!"  pouted  the  girl, 
raising  round  eyes. 

Carter  was  intoxicated  at  this  confession,  and  laughed 
out  loud. 

"But  you're  too  young  to  play  at  falling  in  love!"  he 
warned  her.  "  How  old  are  you — seventeen  ?  And  you 
haven't  told  me  your  name  yet?" 


52  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"You  know  my  name  is  Miss  Page,"  smiled  Julia. 

"And  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  call  you  that?" 
Carter  reproached  her. 

"It  might  be  Jane,"  she  suggested. 

"Yes,  but  it  isn't,  you  little  devil!"  Suddenly  the 
man  caught  both  her  wrists,  and  Julia  got  on  her  feet, 
and  instinctively  flung  back  her  head.  "You're  going 
to  kiss  me  for  that!"  he  said,  half  laughing,  half  vexed. 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not!"  A  sudden  twist  of  her  body 
failed  to  free  her,  and  the  plume  on  her  hat  brushed  his 
cheek. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are!"  He  caught  both  wrists  in  one  of 
his  strong  hands,  and  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders 
like  a  vise,  turning  her  face  toward  him  at  the  same  time. 
Julia,  furious  with  the  nervous  fear  that  this  scuffling 
would  be  overheard,  and  that  Carter  would  make  her 
ridiculous,  glared  at  him,  and  they  remained  staring 
fixedly  at  each  other  for  a  few  moments. 

"You  dare!"  she  whispered  then,  held  so  tightly  that 
Carter  could  hear  her  heart  beat,  "and  I'll  scream  loud 
enough  to  bring  every  one  in  the  place!" 

"All  right — you  little  cat!"  he  laughed,  freeing  her 
suddenly.  Julia  tossed  her  head  and  walked  off  without 
speaking,  but  presently  an  oblique  swift  glance  at  him 
showed  his  expression  to  be  all  penitent  and  beseeching; 
their  eyes  met,  and  they  both  laughed.  Still  laughing, 
they  came  upon  Artheris  and  Connie,  and  all  walked  out 
together  on  the  deserted  stage. 

The  great  empty  arch  was  but  dimly  lighted,  draughty, 
odorous,  and  gloomy.  Beyond  the  extinguished  foot 
lights  they  could  see  the  curved  enormous  cavern  of  the 
house,  row  upon  row  of  empty  seats.  In  the  orchestra 
box  two  or  three  men,  one  in  his  coat  sleeves,  were  dis 
puting  over  an  opera  score.  High  up  in  the  topmost 
gallery  some  one  was  experimenting  with  the  calcium 
machine;  a  fan  of  light  occasionally  swept  the  house,  or 
a  man's  profile  was  silhouetted  against  a  sputter  of  blue 
flame. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  53 

Artheris  and  young  Hazzard  paced  the  stage,  con 
sulted,  and  disagreed.  Connie  practised  a  fancy  step  in 
a  wide  circle,  her  skirt  caught  up,  her  face  quite  free  of 
self-consciousness.  Julia  sat  on  a  box,  soberly  looking 
from  face  to  face. 

Something  had  happened  to  her,  she  did  not  yet  know 
what.  She  was  frightened,  yet  strangely  bold;  she  ex- 

Eerienced  delicious  chills,  yet  her  cheeks  were  on  fire, 
ove  of  life  flooded  her  whole  being  in  waves;  she  was 
wrapped,  lulled,  saturated,  in  a  new  and  dreamy  peace. 
Julia  felt  a  sudden  warm  rush  of  affection  for  Connie — 
dear  old  Con — the  best  friend  a  girl  ever  had!     She 
looked    about   the   theatre;    how    she    loved    the   old 
"Grand!"     Above  all  possible  conditions  in  life  it  was 
wonderful  to  be  Julia  Page,  sitting  here,  the  very  hub  of 
the  world,  a  being  to  love  and  be  loved. 

There,  at  that  hour,  she  came  to  that  second  birth  all 
women  know;  she  was  born  into  that  world  of  drifting 
sweet  odours,  blending  and  iridescent  colours,  evasive 
and  enchanting  sounds,  that  is  the  kingdom  of  the  heart. 

Julia  did  not  know  why,  from  this  hour  on,  she  was  no 
Dnger  a  little  girl,  she  was  no  longer  dumb  and  blind 
and  unseeing.  But  a  new  and  delightful  consciousness 
woke  within  her,  a  new  sense  of  her  own  importance,  her 
own  charm. 

When  she  and  Connie  strolled  out  again,  it  was,  for 
Julia  at  least,  into  a  changed  world.  The  immortal  hour 
of  romancetouched  even  sordid  Mission  Street  with  gold. 
Julia  walked  demurely,  but  conscious  of  every  admiring 
glance  she  won  from  the  passers-by,  conscious  of  a  score 
of  swallows  taking  flight  from  a  curb,  conscious  of  the 
pathetic  beauty  of  the  little  draggled  mother  wheeling 
home  her  sleepy  baby,  the  setting  sunlight  glittering  in 
the  eyes  of  both. 

"He's  nothing  but  a  big  spoiled  kid,  if  you  want  to 
know  what  I  think,"  said  Connie,  ending  a  long  dis 
sertation  to  which  Julia  had  only  half  listened. 

"He — who?"  asked  Julia,  suddenly  recalled  from 
dreams,  and  feeling  her  heart  turn  liquid  within  her.  A 


54  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

weakness  seized  her  knees,  a  delicious  chillran  up  her 
spine. 

"Hazzard — the  smarty!"  Connie  elucidated  care 
lessly. 

"Oh,  sure!"  Julia  said  heavily.  She  made  no 
further  comment. 

She  and  Connie  wandered  in  and  out  of  a  few  shops, 
asking  prices,  and  fingering  laces  and  collars.  They 
went  into  the  dim,  echoing  old  library  on  Post  Street,  to 
powder  their  noses  at  the  mirror  downstairs;  they  went 
into  the  music  store  at  Sutter  and  Kearney,  and  listened 
for  a  few  moments  to  a  phonograph  concert;  they  bought 
violets — ten  cents  for  a  great  bunch — at  the  curb 
market  about  Lotta's  fountain. 

The  sweetness  of  the  dying  spring  day  flooded  the 
city,  and  its  very  essence  pierced  Julia's  heart  with  a 
vague  pain  that  was  a  pleasure,  too.  Presently  she  and 
Connie  walked  to  California  Street,  and  climbed  a 
steep  block  or  two  to  the  Maison  Montiverte. 

Julia  and  her  mother,  and  a  large  proportion  of  their 
acquaintances,  dined  chez  Montiverte  perhaps  a  hun 
dred  times  a  year.  There  was  a  regular  twenty-five-cent 
dinner  that  was  extremely  good,  there  was  a  fifty-cent 
dinner  fit  for  a  king,  and  there  were  specialties  de  la 
maison,  as,  for  example,  a  combination  salad  at  twenty 
cents  that  was  a  meal  in  itself.  Irrespective  of  the  other 
order,  the  guest  of  the  Maison  Montiverte  was  regaled 
with  boiled  shrimps  or  crabs'  legs  while  he  waited  for  his 
dinner,  was  eagerly  served  with  all  the  delicious  French 
bread  and  butter  that  he  could  eat,  and  had  a  little  cup 
of  superb  black  coffee  without  charge  to  finish  his 
meal.  Brilliant  piano  music  swept  the  rooms  whenever 
any  guest  cared  to  send  the  waiter  with  a  five-cent  piece 
to  the  old  mechanical  piano,  and  sprightly  conversation, 
carried  on  from  table  to  table,  gave  the  place  that  tone 
that  Monsieur  Montiverte  considered  to  be  its  most 
valuable  asset.  Monsieur  himself  was  a  dried-up  little 
rat  of  a  man,  grizzled,  and  as  brown  as  a  walnut. 
Madame  was  large  and  superb  and  young,  smooth 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  55 

faced,  brown  haired,  regal  in  manner.  It  was  said  that 
Madame  had  had  a  predecessor,  a  lady  now  living  in 
France,  whose  claim  upon  Jules  Montiverte  was  still 
valid.  However  that  might  be,  it  did  not  seem  to  worry 
Jules,  nor  his  calm  and  lovely  companion,  nor  their  two 
daughters,  black-eyed  baby  girls,  whose  heavy  straight 
hair  was  crimped  at  the  ends  into  bands  of  brownish- 
black  fuzz,  and  who  wore  white  stockings  and  tasselled 
boots,  and  flounced,  elaborately  embroidered  white 
dresses  on  Sundays.  Whatever  their  bar  sinister,  the 
Montivertes  flourished  and  grew  rich,  and  a  suspicion  of 
something  irregular,  some  high-handed  disposition  of 
the  benefit  of  clergy,  helped  rather  than  hurt  their  busi 
ness. 

Julia  and  Connie  were  early  to-night,  and  took  their 
regular  places  at  a  long  table  that  was  as  yet  surrounded 
only  by  empty  chairs.  Madame,  who  was  feeding 
bread  and  milk  to  a  black-eyed  three-year-old  at  a  little 
table  in  a  corner,  nodded  a  welcome,  and  a  young 
Frenchwoman,  putting  her  head  in  through  a  swinging 
door  at  the  back,  nodded,  too,  and  said,  showing  a 
double  row  of  white  teeth: 

"Wait— een?" 

"Yes,  we'll  wait  for  the  others!"  Connie  called  back. 
She  and  Julia  nibbled  French  bread,  and  played  with 
their  knives  and  forks  while  they  waited. 

The  dining-room  had  that  aspect  of  having  been 
made  for  domestic  and  adapted  to  general  use  that  is  so 
typically  un-American,  yet  so  dear  to  the  American 
heart.  An  American  manager  would  have  torn  down 
partitions,  papered  in  brown  cartridge,  curtained  in 
pongee,  and  laid  a  hardwood  floor.  Monsieur  Monti 
verte  left  the  two  drawing-rooms  as  they  were:  a  shabby 
red  carpet  was  under  foot,  stiff  Nottingham  curtains 
filtered  the  bright  sunlight,  and  an  old-fashioned  paper 
in  dull  arabesques  of  green  and  brown  and  gold  made  a 
background  for  framed  dark  engravings,  "Franklin  at 
the  Court  of  France,"  and  "The  Stag  at  Bay,"  and 
other  pictures  of  their  type.  The  tablecloths  were 


56  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

coarse,  the  china  and  glass  heavy,  and  the  menus  were 
written  in  blue  indelible  pencil,  in  a  curly  French  hand. 
From  the  windows  at  the  back  one  could  look  out  upon 
an  iron-railed  balcony,  a  garden  beyond,  and  the  old, 
brick,  balconied  houses  of  the  Chinese  quarter.  At  the 
left  the  California  Street  cable  car  climbed  the  hill,  and 
the  bell  tower  of  old  St.  Mary's  rose  sombre  and  digni 
fied  against  the  soft  sunset  sky.  At  the  right  were  the 
Park,  with  a  home-going  tide  pouring  through  it  at  this 
hour,  and  Kearney  Street  with  its  jangling  car  bells,  and 
below,  the  square  roofs  of  the  warehouse  district,  and 
the  spire  of  the  ferry  building,  and  the  bay  framed  in  its 
rim  of  hills.  Montiverte  owned  the  house  in  which  he 
conducted  his  business;  it  was  one  of  the  oldest  in  the 
city,  built  by  the  French  pioneers  who  were  the  first  to 
erect  permanent  homes  in  the  new  land.  This  had  been 
the  fashionable  part  of  town  in  1860,  but  its  stately  old 
homes  were  put  to  strange  uses  in  these  days.  Board 
ing-houses  of  the  lowest  class,  shops,  laundries,  saloons, 
and  such  restaurants  as  Jules  Montiverte's  overran  the 
district;  the  Chinese  quarter  pressed  hard  upon  one  side, 
and  what  was  always  called  the  "  bad"  part  of  town  upon 
the  other.  Yet  only  two  blocks  away,  straight  up  the 
hill,  were  some  of  San  Francisco's  most  beautiful  homes, 
the  brownstone  mansion,  then  the  only  one  in  California, 
that  some  homesick  Easterner  built  at  fabulous  cost,  the 
great  house  that  had  been  recently  given  for  an  in 
stitute  of  art,  and  the  homes  of  two  or  three  of  the  rail 
road  kings. 

Patrons  of  Montiverte  began  to  saunter  in  by  twos 
and  threes.  Some  of  these  the  girls  knew,  and  saluted 
familiarly;  others  were  strangers,  and  ignored,  and 
made  to  feel  as  uncomfortable  as  possible.  Julia's 
beauty  was  always  the  object  of  notice,  and  she  loved  to 
appear  entirely  unconscious  of  it,  to  sparkle  and  chatter 
as  if  no  eyes  were  upon  her. .  Emeline  came  in,  with  one 
or  two  older  women,  and  Julia  looked  up  from  a  great 
bowl  of  soup  to  nod  to  her. 

"Sign  up?"  asked  Emeline  languidly.     And  two  or 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  57 

three  strangers,  obviously  impressed  by  the  term, 
waited  for  the  answer. 

"Oh,  I  guess  I'll  do  it  to  please  Artheris!"  Julia  said. 
The  girl  was  fairly  aglow  to-night,  palpitating  and 
thrilling  with  youth  and  the  joy  of  life.  Everything 
distracted  her — everything  amused  her — yet  now  and 
then  she  found  a  quiet  moment  in  which  to  take  out  her 
little  memories  of  the  afternoon,  and  to  review  them 
with  a  curiously  palpitating  heart. 

"  If  you  like  me  and  I  like  you  ...  I  want  to 
talk  about  you  .  .  .  do  you  know  you're  absolutely 
fascinating?  .  .  .  you're  going  to  kiss  me  for  that! 
.  .  . "  She  could  still  hear  his  voice,  feel  his  arm 
about  her. 

Somebody  producing  free  seats  for  the  Alcazar  The 
atre,  Julia  allowed  herself  to  drift  along  with  the 
crowd.  They  were  late  for  the  performance,  but  no 
body  cared;  they  had  all  seen  it  before,  and  after  com 
menting  on  it  in  a  way  that  somewhat  annoyed  their 
neighbours,  straggled  out,  in  the  beginning  of  the  last 
act,  giggling  and  chewing  gum.  Julia,  raising  bewil 
dered,  sweet,  childish  eyes  to  the  stars  above  noisy 
O'Farrell  Street,  was  brought  suddenly  to  earth  by  a 
touch  on  her  arm. 

It  was  a  dark,  tall  young  man  who  stepped  out  of  a 
shadowy  doorway  to  address  her,  a  man  of  twenty, 
perhaps,  with  all  the  ripe  and  sensuous  beauty  of  the 
young  Jew.  His  skin  was  a  clear  olive,  his  magnificent 
black  eyes  were  set  off  with  evenly  curling  lashes,  and 
his  firm  mouth,  under  its  faint  moustache,  made  a 
touch  of  scarlet  colour  among  the  rich  brunette  tones. 
He  was  dressed  with  a  scrupulous  niceness,  and  carried 
a  long  light  overcoat  on  his  arm. 

"Julia!"  he  said  sombrely,  coming  forward,  his  eyes 
only  for  her. 

"Why,  hello,  Mark!"  Julia  answered.  And  with  a 
little  concern  creeping  into  her  manner  she  went  on, 
"Why,  what  is  it?" 

Young  Rosenthal  glanced  at  her  friends,  and,  for- 


58  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

mally  offering  her  his  arm,  said  seriously :  "You  will  walk 
with  me?" 

"We  were  going  down  to  Haas's  for  ice-cream  sodas," 
Julia  submitted  hesitatingly. 

"Well,  I  will  take  you  there,"  Mark  said.  And  as 
the  others,  nodding  good-naturedly  at  this,  drifted  on 
ahead,  Julia  found  herself  walking  down  O'Farrell  Street 
on  the  arm  of  a  tall  and  handsome  man. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  done  just  this  thing 
— or  if  not  the  first  time,  it  had  never  seemed  to  have 
any  particular  significance  before.  Now,  however, 
Julia  felt  in  her  heart  a  little  flutter  of  satisfaction. 
Somehow  Mark  did  not  seem  just  a  commonplace  mem 
ber  of  the  "Rosenthal  gang"  to-night,  nor  did  she  seem 
"the  Page  kid."  Mark  was  a  man,  and — thrilling 
thought! — was  angry  at  Julia,  and  Julia,  hanging  on 
his  arm,  with  a  hundred  street  lights  flashing  on  her 
little  powdered  nose  and  saucy  hat,  was  at  last  a  "young 
lady!" 

"What's  the  matter,  Mark?"  she  asked,  by  way  of 
opening  the  conversation. 

"Oh,  nothing  whatever!"  Mark  answered,  in  a  rich, 
full  voice,  and  with  elaborate  irony.  "You  promised 
to  go  to  the  Orpheum  with  me,  and  I  waited — and  I 
waited — and  you  did  not  come.  But  that  is  nothing, 
of  course!" 

Julia's  anger  smote  her  dumb  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  jerked  her  arm  from  his,  and  burst  out: 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  didn't  meet  you  to-night,  Mark 
Rosenthal,  and  if  you  don't  like  it,  you  know  what 
you  can  do!  Last  week  you  asked  me  would  I  go  to 
Morosco's  with  you,  and  I  said  yes,  and  then  when  it 
came  right  down  to  it — your  mother  wasn't  going,  and 
Sophy  and  Hannah  weren't  going,  and  Otto  wasn't 
going — and  I  tell  you  right  now  that  Mama  don't  like 
me  to  go  to  the  theatre " 

"Well,  well,  well!"  Mark  interrupted  soothingly, 
half  laughing,  half  aghast  at  this  burst  of  rebuke  from 
the  usually  gentle  Julia.  "Don't  be  so  cross  about  it! 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  59 

So "     He  put  her  arm  in  his  again.     "I  like  to  have 

you  to  myself,  Julia,"  he  said,  his  boyish,  handsome 
face  suddenly  flushing,  his  voice  very  low.  "Do  you 
know  why?" 

"No,"  said  Julia  after  a  pause,  the  word  strangling  her. 

"You  don't,  eh?"  Mark  said,  with  a  smiling  side 
glance. 

"Nope,"  said  Julia,  dimpling  as  she  returned  the 
look,  and  shutting  her  pretty  lips  firmly  over  the  little 
word. 

"Do  you  know  you  are  ador-r-rable?"  Mark  said, 
in  a  sort  of  eager  rush.  "Will  you  go  to  Maskey's  with 
me,  instead  of  joining  the  others  at  Haas's?"  he  asked, 
more  quietly. 

•  "Well,"  Julia  said.  She  was  her  own  mistress.  Her 
mother  had  gone  home  during  the  play  with  Mrs. 
Toomey,  who  complained  of  a  headache.  So,  grinning 
like  conspirators,  they  stayed  on  the  south  side  of  the 
street  until  it  joined  Market,  and  then  went  by  the 
fountain  and  the  big  newspaper  buildings,  and  slipped 
into  the  confectioner's.  Julia  sent  an  approving  side 
glance  at  herself  in  the  mirror,  as  she  drew  a  satisfied 
breath  of  the  essence-laden  air.  She  loved  lights,  per 
fumes,  voices — and  all  were  here. 

An  indifferent  young  woman  wiped  their  table  with 
a  damp  rag,  as  she  took  their  order,  both,  with  the  dar 
ing  of  their  years,  deciding  upon  the  murderous  com 
bination  of  banana  ice-cream  and  soda  with  chopped 
nuts  and  fruit.  Julia  had  no  sooner  settled  back  con 
tentedly  to  wait  for  it,  than  her  eye  encountered  the 
beaming  faces  of  her  late  companions,  who,  finding 
Haas's  crowded,  had  naturally  drifted  on  to  Maskey's. 

Much  giggling  and  blushing  and  teasing  ensued. 
Julia  was  radiant  as  a  rose;  every  time  she  caught  sight 
of  her  own  pretty  reflection  in  the  surrounding  mirrors, 
a  fresh  thrill  of  self-confidence  warmed  her.  She  and 
Mark  followed  the  banana  confection  with  a  dish  apiece 
of  raspberry  ice-cream,  and  afterward  walked  home — 
it  was  not  far — to  the  house  in  which  they  both  lived. 


60  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"And  so  we  don't  quarrel  any  more?"  Mark  asked, 
in  the  dim  hallway  outside  her  door. 

"Not  if  you  won't  play  mean  tricks  on  me!"  Julia 
pouted,  raising  her  face  so  that  the  dim  light  of  the  gas 
jet  that  burned  year  in  and  year  out,  in  the  blistered 
red-glass  shade,  fell  upon  the  soft  curves  of  her  face. 

It  was  a  deliberate  piece  of  coquetry,  and  Julia,  al 
though  neither  he  nor  any  other  man  had  ever  done  it 
before,  was  not  at  all  surprised  to  have  Mark  suddenly 
close  his  strong  arms  about  her,  and  kiss  her,  with  a  sort 
of  repressed  violence,  on  the  mouth.  She  struggled 
from  his  hold,  as  a  matter  of  course,  laughed  a  little 
laugh  of  triumph  and  excitement,  and  shut  herself  into 
her  own  door. 

Emeline  was  lying  in  bed,  looking  over  some  fashion 
and  theatrical  magazines.  Upon  her  daughter's  en 
trance  she  gave  a  comfortable  yawn. 

"Did  Mark  find  you,  Julie?  He  was  sitting  on  the 
stairs  when  I  got  home,  mad  because  you  didn't  go  out 
with  them." 

"Yep,  he  found  me!"  Julia  answered,  still  panting. 

"It  strikes  me  he's  a  little  mushy  on  you,  Julie," 
Emeline  said,  lazily,  turning  a  page.  "And  if  you 
were  a  little  older,  or  he  had  more  of  a  job,  I'd  give  him 
a  piece  of  my  mind.  You  ain't  going  to  marry  his 
sort,  I  should  hope.  But,  Lord,  you're  both  only 
kids!" 

"I  guess  I  can  mind  my  own  business,  Mama," 
Julia  said. 

"Well,  I  guess  you  can,"  Emeline  conceded  amiably. 
"Look,  Ju,  at  the  size  of  these  sleeves — ain't  that  some 
thing  fierce?  Get  the  light  out  as  soon  as  you  can, 
lovey,"  she  added,  flinging  away  her  magazine,  and  roll 
ing  herself  tight  in  the  covers,  with  bright  eyes  fixed  on 
the  girl. 

Ten  minutes  later  Emeline  was  asleep.  But  Julia 
lay  long  awake,  springtime  in  her  blood,  her  eyes  smil 
ing  mysteriously  into  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  III 

BY  JUST  what  mental  processes  Emeline  Page  had 
come  to  feel  herself  a  dignified  martyr  in  a  world  full 
of  oppressed  women,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say: 
Emeline  herself  would  have  been  the  last  person  from 
whom  a  reasonable  explanation  might  have  been  ex 
pected.  But  it  was  a  fact  that  she  never  missed  an  op 
portunity  to  belittle  the  male  sex;  she  had  never  had 
much  charm  for  men,  she  had  none  now,  and  conse 
quently  she  associated  chiefly  with  women:  with  wid 
ows  and  grass  widows  of  her  own  type,  and  with  the 
young  actresses  and  would-be  actresses  of  the  curi 
ous  social  level  upon  which  she  lived.  Emeline's  lack 
of  charm  was  the  most  valuable  moral  asset  she  had. 
Had  she  attracted  men  she  would  not  long  have  re 
mained  virtuous,  for  she  was  violently  opposed  to  any 
restriction  upon  her  own  desires,  no  matter  how  well 
established  a  restriction  or  how  generally  accepted  it 
might  be.  For  a  little  while  after  George's  going, 
Emeline  had  indeed  frequently  used  the  term  "if  I 
marry  again,"  but  of  late  years  she  had  rather  softened 
to  his  memory,  and  enjoyed  abusing  other  men  while 
she  revelled  in  a  fond  recollection  of  George's  goodness. 

"God  knows  I  was  only  a  foolish  girl,"  Emeline  would 
say,  resting  cold  wet  feet  against  the  open  oven  door 
while  Julia  pressed  a  frill.  "But  your  papa  never  was 
anything  but  a  perfect  ge'man,  never!  I'll  never  for 
get  one  night  when  he  took  me  to  Grant's  Cafe  for  din 
ner!  I  was  all  dressed  up  to  kill,  and  George  looked 
elegant " 

A  long  reminiscence  followed. 

"I  hope  to  God  you  get  as  good  a  man  as  your  papa," 
said  Emeline  more  than  once,  romantically. 

61 


62  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Julia,  thumping  an  iron,  would  answer  with  cool  com 
mon  sense: 

"Well,  if  I  do,  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now,  Mama, 
I'll  treat  him  a  good  deal  better  than  you  did!" 

"Oh,  you'll  be  a  wonder,"  Emeline  would  concede 
good-naturedly. 

At  very  long  intervals  Emeline  dressed  herself  and  her 
daughter  as  elaborately  as  possible,  and  went  out  into 
the  Mission  to  see  her  parents.  With  the  singular 
readiness  to  change  the  known  discomfort  for  the  un 
known,  characteristic  of  their  class,  the  various  young 
members  of  the  family  had  all  gone  away  now,  and 
lonely  old  Mrs.  Cox,  a  shrivelled  little  shell  of  a  woman 
at  sixty-five,  always  had  a  warm  welcome  for  her  oldest 
daughter  and  her  beautiful  grandchild.  She  would 
limp  about  her  bare,  uninviting  little  rooms,  complaining 
of  her  husband's  increasing  meanness  and  of  her  own 
physical  ills,  while  with  gnarled,  twisted  old  hands  she 
filled  a  "Rebecca"  teapot  of  cheap  brown  glaze,  or  cut 
into  a  fresh  loaf  of  "milk  bread." 

"D'ye  see  George  at  all  now,  Emeline?" 

"Not  to  speak  to,  Mom.  But" — and  Emeline  would 
lay  down  the  little  mirror  in  which  she  was  studying  her 
face — "but  the  Rosenthal  children  say  that  there's  a 
man  who's  always  hanging  about  the  lower  doorway, 
and  that  once  he  gave  Hannah " 

And  so  on  and  on.  Mrs.  Cox  was  readily  convinced 
that  George,  repentant,  was  unable  to  keep  away  from 
the  neighbourhood  of  his  one  and  only  love.  Julia, 
dreaming  over  her  thick  cup  of  strong  tea,  granted  only 
a  polite,  faintly  weary  smile  to  her  mother's  romances. 
She  knew  how  glad  Emeline  would  be  to  really  believe 
even  one  tenth  of  these  flattering  suspicions. 

A  few  weeks  after  Julia's  long  day  of  events  with 
Artheris,  with  Carter  Hazzard,  and  young  Rosenthal, 
she  chanced  to  awaken  one  Saturday  morning  to  a  pleas 
ant,  undefined  sensation  that  life  was  sweet.  She 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  63 

thought  of  Mr.  Hazzard,  whom  she  had  seen  twice  since 
their  first  meeting,  but  not  alone  again.  And  she  re-v 
fleeted  with  satisfaction  that  she  knew  her  part  of  "The 
Amazons"  perfectly,  and  so  was  ready  for  the  first 
rehearsal  to-day.  This  led  to  a  little  dream  of  the  lead 
ing  lady  failing  to  appear  on  the  great  night,  and  of  Julia 
herself  in  Lady  Noel's  part;  of  Julia  subsequently  adored 
and  envied  by  the  entire  cast;  of  Carter  Hazzard 

Julia  had  made  an  engagement  with  Mark  for  to-day, 
but  the  rehearsal  plan  must  interfere.  She  wondered 
how  she  could  send  him  word,  and  finally  decided  to  see 
him  herself  for  a  moment  early  in  the  afternoon.  Mark, 
originally  employed  as  office  boy,  pure  and  simple,  had 
now  made  himself  a  general  handy  man,  reference  and 
filing  clerk,  in  the  big  piano  house  of  Pomeroy  and 
Parke.  He  had  all  the  good  traits  of  his  race,  and  some 
of  the  traits  that,  without  being  wholly  admirable,  help 
a  man  toward  success.  No  slur  at  himself  or  his  religion 
was  keen  enough  to  pierce  Mark's  smiling  armour  of 
philosophy,  no  hours  were  too  hard  for  him,  no  work  too 
menial  for  him  to  do  cheerfully,  nor  too  important  for 
him  to  undertake  confidently.  A  wisdom  far  older  than 
his  years  was  his.  Poverty  had  been  his  teacher,  exile 
and  deprivation.  When  other  children  were  in  school, 
repeating  mechanically  that  many  a  little  made  a 
mickle,  that  genius  was  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking 
pains,  and  that  a  man  has  no  handicaps  but  those  of  his 
own  making,  Mark  knew  these  things,  he  knew  that  the 
great  forces  of  life  were  no  stronger  than  his  own  two 
hands,  and  that  any  work  of  any  sort  must  bring  him  to 
his  goal — the  goal  of  wealth  and  power  and  position. 

He  knew  that  his  father  was  not  so  clever  as  he  was, 
and  why.  He  saw  that  his  mother  was  worn  out  with 
housework  and  child-bearing.  He  did  not  idealize  their 
home,  where  father,  mother,  and  seven  children  were 
crowded  into  four  rooms,  and  where  of  an  evening  the 
smell  of  cabbage  soup  and  herrings,  of  soap-suds  and  hot 
irons  on  woollen,  of  inky  school  books  and  perspiring 
humanity,  mingled  with  the  hot,  oily  breath  of  the  lamp. 


64  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Yet  Mark  saw  beyond  this,  too.  The  food  was  good, 
if  coarse,  the  bills  were  paid,  the  bank  account  grew. 
Some  day  the  girls  would  be  married,  the  boys  in  good 
positions;  some  day  the  mother  should  have  a  little 
country  house  and  a  garden,  and  the  father  come  home 
early  to  smoke  his  pipe  and  prune  his  rose  bushes.  Not 
a  very  brilliant  future — no.  But  how  brilliant  to  them, 
who  could  remember  Russia! 

As  for  him,  Mark,  there  was  no  limit  to  his  personal 
dream  at  all.  Some  day,  while  yet  as  young  as  Mr. 
Parke,  he  would  be  as  rich  as  Mr.  Pomeroy,  he  would 
have  five  splendid  children,  like  the  Pomeroy  children, 
he  would  have  a  wife  as  beautiful  as  young  Mrs.  Parke. 
To  his  beautiful  Jackson  Street  palace  the  city's  best 
people  should  come,  and  sometimes — for  a  favoured 
few — he  would  play  his  rippling  etudes  and  nocturnes, 
his  mazurkas  and  polonaises. 

Julia  Page,  an  unnoticed  little  neighbour  for  many 
years,  had,  just  at  present,  somewhat  ruffled  the  surface 
of  his  dream.  Julia  was  not  the  ideal  wife  of  his  mind 
or  heart;  nor  was  she  apt  to  grow  to  fill  that  ideal.  Mrs. 
Mark  Rosenthal  must  be  a  Jewess,  a  wise,  ripened, 
poised,  and  low-voiced  woman,  a  lover  of  music,  babies, 
gardens,  cooking,  and  managing. 

Yet  there  had  been  a  certain  evening,  not  long  before 
that  spring  evening  upon  which  Julia's  own  awakening 
came,  when  Mark  had  been  astonished  to  find  a  sudden 
charm  in  the  little  girl.  She  was  only  a  little  girl,  of 
course,  he  said  to  himself  later;  just  a  kid,  but  she  was  a 
mighty  cunning  kid! 

Julia  often  had  dinner  with  the  Rosenthals;  she  loved 
every  separate  member  of  the  family  and  she  knew 
they  all  loved  her.  She  used  to  run  upstairs  and  pop 
her  pretty  head  into  the  Rosenthal  kitchen  perhaps 
twice  a  week,  sure  of  a  welcome  and  a  good  meal. 
On  the  occasion  so  significant  to  Mark  she  had  been 
there  when  he  got  in  from  work,  helping  his  sisters 
Sophy  and  Hannah  with  that  careless  disposition  of 
iron  knives,  great  china  sugar  bowl,  oddly  assorted 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  65 

plates,  and  thick  cups  that  was  known  as  "setting  the 
table." 

Mark  had  noticed  then  that  Julia's  figure  was  getting 
very  pretty,  and  he  watched  her  coming  and  going  with  a 
real  pleasure.  She  sat  next  him  at  table,  and,  conscious 
as  he  was  of  her  nearness  and  of  himself,  he  found  her 
unconsciousness  very  charming.  Julia  had  burned  her 
arm  serving  the  fried  hominy,  and  she  held  it  up  for 
Mark  to  see,  the  bare,  sweet  young  arm  close  to  his  face. 

And  since  then,  poor  Mark  seemed  to  be  bewitched. 
He  could  not  think  of  anything  but  Julia.  It  made  him 
angry  and  self-contemptuous,  but  he  was  no  better  off 
for  that.  He  did  not  want  to  fall  in  love  with  Julia 
Page;  he  would  not  admit  that  what  he  felt  for  Julia  was 
love;  he  raged  with  disappointment  at  the  mere  thought 
of  bondage  so  soon,  and  especially  this  bondage.  But 
the  sweetness  of  her  stole  upon  his  senses  nevertheless, 
tangling  about  him  like  a  drifting  bit  of  vaporous  mist; 
he  had  no  sooner  detached  one  section  of  it  than  another 
blew  across  his  eyes,  set  pulses  to  beating  in  his  temples, 
and  shook  his  whole  body  with  a  delicious  weakness. 

And  then  came  the  night  when  she  had  not  kept  her 
appointment,  and  he  had  followed  her  to  the  Alcazar 
Theatre,  and  later  kissed  her  in  the  dark  hallway. 
Then  Mark  knew.  From  the  instant  her  fresh  lips 
touched  his,  and  he  felt  the  soft  yielding  as  he  drew  her 
to  him,  Mark  knew  that  he  was  of  the  world's  lovers. 
He  wanted  her  with  all  the  deep  passion  of  first  love — 
first  love  in  an  ardent  and  romantic  and  forceful  nature. 
His  dreams  did  not  change;  Julia  changed  to  fit  them. 
She  was  everything  for  which  he  had  ever  longed,  she 
was  perfection  absolute.  She  became  his  music,  his 
business,  his  life.  Every  little  girl,  every  old  woman 
that  he  passed  in  the  street,  made  him  think  of  Julia, 
and  when  he  passed  a  young  man  and  woman  full  of 
concern  for,  and  of  shy  pride  in,  their  lumpy  baby  in  its 
embroidered  coat,  a  wave  of  divine  envy  swept  Mark 
from  head  to  foot. 

To-day  he  whistled  over  his  work,  thinking  of  Julia. 


66  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

They  were  to  meet  at  three  o'clock,  "just  to  bum,"  as 
the  girl  said,  laughing.  Mark  thought  that,  as  the 
season  was  well  forward,  they  might  take  a  car  to  the 
park  or  the  beach,  but  the  plan  had  been  left  indefinite. 

He  ate  his  lunch,  of  butterless  bread  and  sausage,  and 
an  entire  five-cent  pie,  in  a  piano  wareroom,  taking 
great  bites,  with  dreamy  studying  of  the  walls  and  long 
delays  between.  Then  he  wandered  down  through  the 
empty  offices — it  was  Saturday  afternoon  and  Pomeroy 
and  Parke  closed  promptly  at  twelve — had  a  brief  chat 
with  the  Japanese  janitor,  and  washed  his  hands  and 
combed  his  hair  very  conscientiously  in  the  president's 
own  lavatory. 

At  half-past  one  he  went  into  one  of  the  glass  show 
rooms,  a  prettily  furnished  apartment  whose  most  not 
able  article  of  furniture  was  a  grand  piano  in  exquisitely 
matched  Circassian  walnut.  Absorbed  and  radiant, 
Mark  put  back  the  cover,  twirled  the  stool,  and  care 
fully  opened  a  green  book  marked  "Chopin."  Then 
he  sat  down,  and,  with  the  sigh  of  a  happy  child  falling 
upon  a  feast,  he  struck  an  opening  chord. 

The  big  flexible  fingers  still  needed  training,  but  they 
showed  the  result  of  hours  and  hours  of  patient  practice, 
too.  Through  his  seven  years  in  the  music  house,  Mark 
had  been  faithful  to  his  gift.  He  made  no  secret  of  it, 
his  associates  knew  that  he  came  back  after  dinner  to 
the  very  rooms  that  they  themselves  left  so  eagerly  at 
the  end  of  the  day.  Mark  had  indeed  once  asked  old 
Mr.  Pomeroy  to  hear  him  play,  an  occasion  to  which  the 
boy  still  looked  back  with  hot  shame.  For  when  his 
obliging  old  employer  had  settled  himself  to  listen  after 
hours  on  an  appointed  afternoon,  and  Mark  had  opened 
the  piano,  the  performer  suddenly  found  his  spine  icy, 
his  hands  wet  and  clumsy.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  never 
touched  a  piano  before;  the  attempt  was  a  failure  from 
the  first  note,  as  Mark  well  knew.  When  he  had  fin 
ished  he  whisked  open  another  book. 

"That  was  rotten,"  he  stammered.  "I  thought  I 
could  do  it — I  can't.  But  just  let  me  play  you  this " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  67 

But  the  great  man  was  in  a  hurry,  it  appeared. 

"No — no,  my  boy,  not  to-day — some  other  time! 
Perhaps  a  little  bit  too  ambitious  a  choice,  eh?  We 
must  all  be  ambitious,  but  we  must  know  our  limita 
tions,  too.  Some  other  time!" 

Then  Mr.  Pomeroy  was  gone  and  Mark  left  to  bit 
terest  reflection. 

But  he  recovered  very  sensibly  from  his  boyish  cha 
grin,  and  very  sensibly  went  at  his  practicing  again. 
On  this  particular  Saturday  afternoon  he  attacked  a 
certain  phrase  in  the  bass,  and  for  almost  an  hour  the 
big  fingers  of  his  left  hand  rippled  over  it  steadily. 
Mark,  twisted  about  halfway  on  the  bench,  watched  the 
performance  steadily,  his  right  hand  hanging  loose. 

"Damn!"  he  said  presently,  with  a  weary  sigh,  as 
a  sharp  and  familiar  little  pain  sprang  into  his  left 
wrist. 

"Mark!"  breathed  a  reproachful  voice  behind  him. 
He  whirled  about,  to  see  Julia  Page. 

She  had  come  noiselessly  in  at  the  glass  doorway  be 
hind  him,  and  was  standing  there,  laughing,  a  picture  of 
fresh  and  demure  beauty,  despite  the  varied  colours  in 
hat  and  waist  and  gown  and  gloves. 

"I  had  to  see  you!"  said  Julia,  in  a  rush.  "And 
nobody  answered  your  telephone — there's  a  rehearsal  of 
that  play  at  the  theatre  to-day,  so  I  can't  meet  you — 
and  the  janitor  let  me  in " 

Mark  found  her  incoherence  delicious;  her  being  here, 
in  his  own  familiar  stamping-greund,  one  of  the  thrilling 
and  exciting  episodes  of  his  life.  He  could  have  shouted 
—have  danced  for  pure  joy  as  he  jumped  up  to  welcome 
her.  Julia  declared  that  she  had  to  "fly,"  but  Mark 
insisted — and  she  found  his  insistence  curiously  pleasant 
—upon  showing  her  about,  leading  her  from  office  to 
office,  beaming  at  her  whenever  their  eyes  met.  And  he 
must  play  her  the  little  Schumann,  he  said,  but  no — for 
that  Julia  positively  would  not  wait;  she  jerked  him  by 
one  hand  toward  the  door.  Mark  had  his  second  kiss 


68  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

before  they  emerged  laughing  and  radiant  into  the  gaiety 
of  Kearney  Street  on  a  Saturday  afternoon. 

And  Julia  was  not  late  for  her  rehearsal,  or,  if  late,  she 
was  at  least  earlier  by  a  full  quarter  hour  than  the  rest 
of  the  caste.  She  took  an  orchestra  seat  in  the  empty 
auditorium  at  the  doorkeeper's  suggestion,  and  yawned, 
and  stared  at  the  coatless  back  of  a  man  who  was  tuning 
the  orchestra  piano. 

Presently  two  distinguished  looking  girls,  beautifully 
dressed,  came  in,  and  sat  down  near  her  in  a  rather  un 
certain  way,  and  began  to  laugh  and  talk  in  low  tones. 
Neither  cast  a  glance  at  Julia,  who  promptly  decided 
that  they  were  hateful  snobs,  and  began  to  regard  them 
with  burning  resentment.  They  had  been  there  only  a 
few  moments  when  two  young  men  sauntered  down  the 
aisle,  unmistakably  gentlemen,  and  genuine  enough  to 
express  their  enjoyment  of  this  glimpse  of  a  theatre  be 
tween  performances.  Two  of  them  carried  little  paper 
copies  of  "The  Amazons,"  so  Julia  knew  them  for  fellow- 
performers. 

Then  a  third  young  woman  came  in  and  walked  down 
the  aisle  as  the  others  had  done.  This  was  an  extremely 
pretty  girl  of  perhaps  eighteen,  with  dark  hair  and  dark 
bright  eyes,  and  a  very  fresh  bright  colour.  Her  gown 
was  plain  but  beautifully  fitting,  and  her  wide  hat  was 
crowned  with  a  single  long  ostrich  plume.  She  peered 
at  the  young  men. 

"Hello,  Bobby — hello,  Gray!"  she  said  gayly,  and 
then,  catching  sight  of  the  two  other  girls  across  the 
aisle,  she  added :  "Oh,  hello,  Helen — how  do  you  do,  Miss 
Carson?  Come  over  here  and  meet  Mr.  Sumner  and 
Mr.  Babcock!" 

Babel  ensued.  Three  or  four  waiting  young  people 
said,  "Oh,  Barbara!"  in  tones  of  great  delight,  and  the 
fourth  no  less  eagerly  substituted,  "Oh,  Miss  Toland!" 

"How  long  have  you  poor,  long-suffering  catfish  been 
waiting  here?"  demanded  Miss  Barbara  Toland,  with  a 
sort  of  easy  sweetness  that  Julia  found  instantly 
enviable.  "Why,  we're  all  out  in  the  foyer — Mother's 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  69 

here,  chaperoning  away  like  mad,  and  nearly  all  the 
others!  And" — she  whisked  a  little  gold  watch  into 
sight — "my  dears,  it's  twenty  minutes  to  four!" 

Every  one  exclaimed,  as  they  rushed  out.  Julia, 
unaccountably  nervous,  wished  she  were  well  out  of  this 
affair,  and  wondered  what  she  ought  to  do. 

Presently  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  well-dressed  folk 
came  streaming  back  down  the  main  aisle  in  a  wild 
confusion  of  laughter  and  talk.  Somehow  the  principals 
were  filtered  out  of  this  crowd,  and  somehow  they  got  on 
the  stage,  and  got  a  few  lights  turned  on,  and  assembled 
for  the  advice  of  an  agitated  manager.  Dowagers  and 
sympathetic  friends  settled  in  orchestra  seats  to  watch; 
the  rehearsal  began. 

Julia  had  strolled  up  to  the  stage  after  the  others;  now 
she  sat  on  a  shabby  wooden  chair  that  had  lost  its  back, 
leaned  her  back  against  a  piece  of  scenery,  and  surveyed 
the  scene  with  as  haughty  and  indifferent  an  air  as  she 
could  assume. 

"And  the  Sergeant — who  takes  that?"  demanded  the 
manager,  a  young  fellow  of  their  own  class,  familiarly 
addressed  as  "Matty." 

The  caste,  which  had  been  churning  senselessly  about 
him,  chorussed  an  explanation. 

"A  professional  takes  that,  Mat,  don't  you  remember?" 

"Well,  where  is  she?"  Matty  asked  irritably. 

Julia  here  sauntered  superbly  forward,  serenely  con 
scious  of  youth,  beauty,  and  charm.  Every  one  stared 
frankly  at  her,  as  she  said  languidly: 

**  Perhaps  it's  I  you're  looking  for  ?    Mr.  Artheris— 

"Yes,  that's  right!"  said  Matty,  relieved.  He  wiped 
his  forehead.  "Miss — Page,  isn't  it?"  He  paused,  a 
little  at  a  loss,  eying  the  other  ladies  of  the  caste 
dubiously.  The  girl  called  Barbara  Toland  now  came 
forward  with  her  ready  graciousness,  and  the  two  girls 
looked  fairly  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"Miss  Page,"  said  Barbara,  and  then  impatiently  to 
the  manager,  "Do  go  ahead  and  get  started,  Matty; 
we've  got  to  get  home  some  time  to-night!" 


70  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Julia's  introduction  was  thus  waived,  and  business 
began  at  once.  The  wavering  voices  of  the  principals 
drifted  uncertainly  into  the  theatre.  "Louder!"  said 
the  chaperons  and  friends.  The  men  were  facetious, 
interpolating  their  lines  with  jokes,  good-humoured 
under  criticism;  the  girls  fluttered  nervously  over  cues, 
could  not  repeat  the  simplest  line  without  a  half-giggling 
"Let's  see — yes,  I  come  in  here,"  and  were  only  fairly 
started  before  they  must  interrupt  themselves  with  an 
earnest,  "Mat,  am  I  standing  still  when  I  say  that,  or  do 
I  walk  toward  her?" 

Julia  was  the  exception.  She  had  been  instructed  a 
fortnight  before  that  she  must  know  her  lines  and 
business  to-day,  and  she  did  know  them.  Almost  scorn 
fully  she  took  her  cues  and  walked  through  her  part. 
"Matty"  clapped  his  hands  and  overpraised  her,  and 
Julia  felt  with  a  great  rush  of  triumph  that  she  had 
"shown  those  girls!"  She  had  an  exhilarating  after 
noon,  for  the  men  buzzed  about  her  on  every  possible 
occasion,  and  she  knew  that  the  other  girls,  for  all  their 
lofty  indifference,  were  keenly  conscious  of  it. 

She  went  out  through  the  theatre  with  the  others,  at 
an  early  six.  The  young  people  straggled  along  the 
aisle  in  great  confusion,  laughing  and  chattering.  Mrs. 
Toland,  a  plump,  merry,  handsomely  dressed  woman, 
was  anxious  to  carrv  off  her  tall  daughter  in  time  for 
some  early  boat. 

"Do  hurry,  Barbara!  Sally  and  Ted  may  be  on  that 
five-fifty,  and  if  Dad  went  home  earlier  they'll  have  to 
make  the  trip  alone!" 

At  the  doorway  they  found  that  the  street  was 
almost  dark,  and  foggy.  Much  discussion  of  cars  and 
carnages  marked  the  breaking-up.  Enid  Hazzard,  a 
rather  noisy  girl,  who  played  Noel  Belturbet,  elected 
to  go  home  with  the  Babcocks.  This  freed  from  all 
responsibility  her  brother  Carter,  who  had  suddenly 
appeared  to  act  as  escort.  Julia,  slipping  up  the  dark 
ening  street,  after  a  few  moments  spent  in  watching  this 
crowd  of  curious  young  people,  found  him  at  her  side. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  71 

"No  coat,  Miss  Page?"  said  the  easy  tones. 

"I  didn't  know  it  would  be  so  foggy!"  said  Julia,  her 
heart  beginning  to  thump. 

"And  where  are  you  going?" 

"Home  to  get  a  coat." 

"I  see.     Where  is  it?     I'll  take  you." 

"Oh,  it's  just  a  few  blocks,"  Julia  said.  She  knew 
nothing  of  the  reputation  of  San  Francisco's  neighbour 
hoods,  but  Carter  gave  her  a  surprised  look.  When 
Julia,  quite  unembarrassed,  stopped  at  the  door  beside 
the  saloon,  he  was  the  more  confused  of  the  two,  al 
though  the  accident  of  seeing  him  again  had  set  the 
blood  to  racing  in  Julia's  veins  and  made  speech  diffi 
cult.  She  had  been  longing  for  just  this;  she  was  trem 
bling  with  eagerness  and  nervousness. 

"Father  and  Mother  live  here?"  asked  Carter. 

"Just  Mama — she  rents  rooms." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  He  had  stepped  into  the  deep  door 
way,  and  catching  her  by  the  shoulders  he  said  now, 
inconsequently:  "Do  you  know  you're  the  prettiest 
girl  that  ever  was?" 

"Am  I?"  said  Julia,  in  a  whisper. 

uYou  know  you  are — you — you  little  flirt!"  Haz- 
zard  said,  his  eyes  three  inches  from  hers.  For  a  tense 
second  neither  stirred,  then  the  man  straightened  up 
suddenly:  "Well!"  he  said  loudly.  "That'll  be  about 
all  of  that.  Good-night,  my  dear!" 

He  turned  abruptly  away,  and  Julia,  smiling  her 
little  inscrutable  smile,  went  slowly  upstairs.  The  bed 
room  was  dark,  unaired,  and  in  disorder.  Julia  looked 
about  it  dreamily,  picked  her  library  book  from  the  floor 
and  read  a  few  pages  of  "Aunt  Johnnie,"  sitting  mean 
while  on  the  edge  of  the  unmade  bed,  and  chewing  a 
piece  of  gum  that  had  been  pressed,  a  neat  bead,  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair.  After  a  while  she  got  up,  powdered 
her  nose,  and  rubbed  her  finger-nails  with  a  buffer — a 
buffer  lifeless  and  hard,  and  deeply  stained  with  dirt 
and  red  grease.  Emeline  had  left  a  note,  "Gone  up  to 
Min's — come  up  there  for  supper,"  but  Julia  felt  that 


72  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

there  was  no  hurry;  meals  at  Mrs.  Tarbury's  were 
usually  late. 

During  the  ensuing  fortnight  there  were  two  or  three 
more  rehearsals  of  "The  Amazons"  at  the  Grand  Opera 
House,  which  only  confirmed  Julia's  first  impression 
of  her  fellow-players.  The  men  she  liked,  and  flirted 
with;  for  the  girls  she  had  a  supreme  contempt.  She 
found  herself  younger,  prettier,  and  a  better  actress 
than  the  youngest,  prettiest,  and  cleverest  among  them. 
While  these  pampered  daughters  of  wealth  went  awk 
wardly  through  their  parts,  and  chatted  in  subdued 
tones  among  themselves,  Julia  rattled  her  speeches  off 
easily,  laughed  and  talked  with  all  the  young  men  in 
turn,  posed  and  pirouetted  as  one  born  to  the  footlights. 
If  Julia  fancied  that  any  girl  was  betraying  a  prefer 
ence  for  any  particular  man,  against  that  man  she  di 
rected  the  full  battery  of  her  charms.  Carter  Hazzard 
came  to  every  rehearsal,  and  was  quite  openly  her  slave. 
He  did  not  offer  to  walk  home  with  her  again,  but  Julia 
knew  that  he  was  conscious  of  her  presence  whenever  she 
was  near  him,  and  spun  a  mad  little  dream  about  a  future 
in  which  she  queened  it  over  all  these  girls  as  his  wife. 

It  was  all  delightful  and  exciting.  Life  had  never 
been  dark  to  Julia;  now  she  found  the  days  all  too  short 
for  her  various  occupations  and  pleasures.  Mark  was 
assuming  more  and  more  the  attitude  of  a  lover,  and 
Julia  was  too  much  of  a  coquette  to  discourage  him 
utterly.  She  really  liked  him,  and  loved  the  stolen 
hours  in  Pomeroy  and  Parke's  big  piano  house,  when 
Mark,  flinging  his  hair  out  of  his  eyes,  playe<l  like  an 
angel,  and  Julia  nibbled  caramels  and  sat  curled  up  on 
the  davenport,  watching  him.  And  through  the  casual 
attentions  of  other  men,  the  occasional  flattering  half- 
hours  with  Carter  Hazzard,  the  evenings  of  gossip  at 
Mrs.  Tarbury's,  and  round  the  long  table  at  Monti- 
verte's,  Julia  liked  to  sometimes  think  of  Mark;  his  ad 
miration  was  a  little  warm,  reassuring  background  for 
all  the  other  thoughts  of  the  day. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  73 

At  the  end  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  rehearsal  Julia  no 
ticed  that  pretty  Barbara  Toland  was  trying  to  manage 
a  moment's  speech  with  her  alone.  She  amused  her 
self  with  an  attempt  to  avoid  Miss  Toland  just  from 
pure  mischief,  but  eventually  the  two  came  face  to 
face,  in  a  garishly  lighted  bit  of  passage,  Barbara,  for 
all  her  advantage  in  years  and  in  position,  seeming  the 
younger  of  the  two. 

"Oh,  Miss  Page,"  said  Barbara  nervously,  "I  wanted 
to — but  were  you  going  somewhere?" 

"Don't  matter  if  I  was!"  said  Julia,  airily  gracious, 
but  watching  shrewdly. 

"Well,  I — I  hope  you  won't  think  this  is  funny,  but, 
well,  I'll  tell  you,"  stammered  Barbara,  very  red.  "I 
know  you  don't  know  us  all  very  well,  you  know — it's 
different  with  us — we've  all  been  brought  up  together— 
but  I  didn't  know  whether  you  knew — perhaps  you  did 
— that  Carter  Hazzard  is  married?" 

Julia  felt  stunned,  and  a  little  sick.  She  got  only  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  their  value  would  come  later. 
But  with  a  desperate  effort  she  pulled  herself  together, 
and  smiled  with  dry  lips. 

"Yes,  I  knew  that,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  not  meeting 
Barbara's  eye. 

"Oh,  well,  then  it's  all  right,"  Barbara  said  hastily, 
relieved.  "But  he— -he  has  a  teasing  sort  of  way,  you 
know.  His  wife  is  in  San  Diego  now,  with  her  own 
people." 

"Yes,  he  told  me  that,"  Julia  said,  only  longing  to 
escape  before  a  maddening  impulse  to  cry  overpowered 
her.  Barbara  saw  the  truth,  and  laid  a  friendly  hand 
on  Julia's  arm. 

"I  just  wanted  you  to  know,"  she  said  in  her  kindliest 
tone. 

Suddenly  Julia  burst  out  crying,  childishly  blubbering 
with  her  wrists  in  her  eyes.  Barbara,  very  much  dis 
tressed,  shielded  her  as  well  as  she  could  from  the  eyes 
of  possible  passers-by,  and  patted  her  shoulder  with  a 
gloved  hand. 


74  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"I  don't  know  why — perfectly  crazy '  gulped 

Julia,  desperately  fighting  the  sobs  that  shook  her. 
"And  I've  had  a  dreadful  headache  all  day,"  she  broke 
out,  pitifully,  beginning  to  mop  her  eyes  with  a  folded 
handkerchief,  her  face  still  turned  away  from  Barbara. 

"Oh,  poor  thing!"  said  Barbara.  "And  the  re 
hearsal  must  have  made  it  worse!" 

"It's  splitting,"  Julia  said  sombrely.  She  gave 
Barbara  one  grave,  almost  resentful,  look,  straightened 
her  hat  and  fluffed  up  her  hair,  and  went  away.  Barbara 
looked  after  her,  and  thought  that  Carter  was  a  beast, 
and  that  there  was  something  very  pitiful  about  common 
little  ignorant  Miss  Page,  and  that  she  wouldn't  tell  the 
girls  about  this,  and  give  them  one  more  cause  to  laugh 
at  the  little  actress.  For  Barbara  Toland  wTas  a  con 
scientious  girl,  and  very  seriously  impressed  with  the 
gravity  of  her  own  responsibility  toward  other  people. 

Meanwhile  Julia  walked  toward  the  Mechanics' 
Library  in  a  very  fury  of  rage  and  resentment.  She 
hated  the  entire  caste  of  "The  Amazons,"  and  she  hated 
Barbara  Toland  and  Carter  Hazzard  more  than  the 
rest!  He  could  play  with  her  and  flirt  with  her  and  de 
ceive  her,  and  while  she,  Julia,  fancied  herself  envied 
and  admired  of  the  other  girls,  this  delicately  perfumed 
and  exquisitely  superior  Barbara  could  be  deciding  in  all 
sisterly  kindness  that  she  must  inform  Miss  Page  of  her 
admirer's  real  position.  Angry  tears  came  to  Julia's 
eyes,  but  she,  went  into  the  Mechanics'  Library  and 
washed  the  evidences  of  them  away,  and  made  herself 
nice  to  meet  Mark. 

But  a  subtle  change  in  the  girl  dated  from  that  day; 
casual  and  foolish  as  the  affair  with  Carter  had  been, 
it  left  its  scar.  Julia's  heart  winced  away  from  the 
thought  of  him  as  she  herself  might  have  shrunk  from 
fire.  She  never  forgave  him. 

It  was  good  to  find  Mark  still  enslaved,  everything 
soothing  and  reassuring.  When  Julia  left  him,  at  her 
own  door  at  six  o'clock,  she  was  her  radiant,  confident 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  75 

self  again,  and  they  kissed  each  other  at  parting  like  true 
lovers.  To  his  eager  demand  for  a  promise  Julia  still 
returned  a  staid,  "Mama'd  be  crazy,  Mark.  I  ain't 
sixteen  yet!"  but  on  this  enchanted  afternoon  she  had 
consented  to  linger,  on  Kearney  Street,  before  the  trays 
of  rings  in  jewellers'  windows,  and  it  was  in  the  wildest 
spirits  that  Mark  bounded  on  upstairs  to  his  own  apart 
ment. 

Julia  had  expected  to  find  her  mother  at  home. 
Instead  the  room  was  empty,  but  the  gas  was  flaring 
high,  and  all  about  was  more  than  the  customary  dis 
order;  there  were  evidences  that  Emeline  had  left  home 
in  something  of  a  hurry.  The  girl  searched  until  she  found 
the  explanatory  note,  and  read  it  with  knitted  brow. 

"I'm  going  to  Santa  Rosa  on  important  business, 
deary,"  Emeline  had  scribbled,  "and  you'd  better  go  to 
Min's  for  a  few  days.  I'll  write  and  leave  you  know  if 
there  is  anything  in  it,  otherwise  there's  no  use  getting 
Min  and  the  girls  started  talking.  There's  ten  dollars 
in  the  hairpin  box.  With  love,  Mama." 

"Well,  I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  know  what  struck  Em," 
said  Mrs.  Tarbury,  for  the  hundredth  time.  It  was  late 
in  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  and  the  lady  and  Julia 
were  in  the  room  shared  by  Miss  Connie  Girard  and  Miss 
Rose  Ransome.  Both  the  young  actresses  had  previously 
appeared  in  a  skit  at  a  local  vaudeville  house,  but  had 
come  home  to  prepare  for  a  supper  to  be  given  by  friends 
in  their  own  profession,  after  the  theatres  had  closed. 
Each  girl  had  a  bureau  of  her  own,  hopelessly  cluttered 
and  crowded,  and  over  each  bureau  an  unshielded  gas  jet 
flared. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  know!"  Julia  added,  in  a  heavy, 
significant  tone.  She  had  come  to  feel  herself  very 
much  abused  by  her  mother's  treatment,  and  was  in 
clined  to  entertain  ugly  suspicions. 

"Oh,  come  now!"  Rose  Ransome  said,  scowling  at 
herself  in  a  hand  mirror  as  she  carefully  rouged  her  lips. 
"Don't  you  get  any  silly  notions  in  your  head!" 


76  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"No,"  Mrs.  Tarbury  added  heavily,  as  she  rocked 
comfortably  to  and  fro,  "no,  that  ain't  Em.  Em  is  a 
cut-up,  all  right,  and  she's  a  great  one  for  a  josh  with  the 
boys,  but  she's  as  straight  as  a  string!  You'll  find  that 
she's  got  some  good  reason  for  this!" 

I'Well,  she'd  better  have!"  Julia  said  sulkily.  "I'm 
going  out  to  see  my  grandmother  to-morrow  and  see  if 
she  knows  anything!" 

But  she  really  gave  less  thought  to  her  mother  than  to 
the  stinging  memory  of  Barbara  Toland's  generosity  and 
Carter  Hazzard's  deception.  She  settled  down  con 
tentedly  enough,  sharing  the  room  with  Connie  and  Rose, 
and  sharing  their  secrets,  and  her  visit  to  old  Mrs.  Cox 
was  indefinitely  postponed.  The  girls  drifted  about  to 
gether,  in  and  out  of  theatres,  in  and  out  of  restaurants 
and  hotels,  reading  cheap  theatrical  magazines,  talking 
of  nothing  but  their  profession.  The  days  were  long 
and  dull,  the  evenings  feverish;  Julia  liked  it  all.  She 
had  no  very  high  ideal  of  home  life;  she  did  not  mind 
the  disorder  of  their  room,  the  jumbled  bureau  drawers, 
the  chairs  and  tables  strewn  with  garments,  the  fly- 
specked  photographs  nailed  against  the  walls.  It  was  a 
comfortable,  irresponsible,  diverting  existence,  at  its 
worst. 

Emeline  did  not  write  her  daughter  for  nearly  two 
weeks,  but  Julia  was  not  left  in  doubt  of  her  mother's 
moral  and  physical  safety  for  that  time.  Only  two  or 
three  days  after  Emeline's  disappearance  Julia  was 
called  upon  by  a  flashily  dressed,  coarse-featured  man  of 
perhaps  forty  who  introduced  himself — in  a  hoarse  voice 
heavy  with  liquor — as  Dick  Palmer. 

"I  used  to  know  your  Pop  when  you's  only  a  kid," 
said  the  caller,  "and  I  know  where  your  Mamma  is  now 
— she's  gone  down  to  Santa  Rosa,  see?" 

"What'd  she  go  there  for?"  Julia  demanded  clearly. 

Mr.  Palmer  cast  an  agitated  glance  about  Mrs.  Tar- 
bury's  dreadful  drawing-room,  and  lowered  his  voice 
confidentially: 

"Well,    d'ye    see — here's   how   it  is!     Your   Papa's 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  77 

down  there  in  Santa  Rosa.  I  run  acrost  him  in  a 
boarding-house  a  few  days  ago,  and  d'ye  see — he's  sick. 
That's  right,"  added  the  speaker  heavily,  "he's  sick." 

"Dying?"  said  Julia  dramatically. 

"No,  he  ain't  dying.  It's  like  this,"  pursued  the 
narrator,  still  with  his  air  of  secrecy,  "there's  a  party 
there  that  runs  the  boarding-house — her  name:s  Lottie 
Clute,  she's  had  it  for  years,  and  she's  got  on  to  the  fact 
that  George  is  insured  for  nine  thousand  dollars,  d'ye 
see?  Well,  she's  got  him  to  promise  to  make  the  policy 
over  to  her." 

"Ha!"  said  Julia,  interested  at  last. 

"Well,  d'ye  see?"  said  Mr.  Palmer  triumphantly. 
"So  I  come  up  to  town  last  week,  and  I  thought  Fd 
drop  in  on  your  Mamma!  No  good  letting  this  other 
little  lady  have  it  all  her  own  way,  you  know!" 

"That's  right,  too,  she's  no  more  than  a  thief!"  Julia 
commented  simply.  "I  don't  know  what  Mama  can 
do,  but  I  guess  you  can  leave  it  to  Mama!" 

Mr.  Palmer,  agreeing  eagerly  to  this,  took  his  leave, 
after  paying  a  hoarse  tribute  to  the  beauty  of  his  old 
friend's  daughter,  and  Julia  dismissed  the  matter  from 
her  mind. 

She  told  Connie  that  she  meant,  as  soon  as  this  am 
ateur  affair  was  over,  to  try  the  stage  in  real  earnest, 
and  Connie,  whose  own  last  venture  had  ended  some 
what  flatly,  was  nevertheless  very  sanguine  about 
Julia's  success.  She  took  Julia  to  see  various  man 
agers,  who  were  invariably  interested  and  urbane,  and 
Julia,  deciding  bitterly  that  she  would  have  no  more 
to  do  with  her  fellow-performers  in  the  caste  of  "The 
Amazon,"  had  Connie  accompany  her  to  rehearsals, 
and  went  through  her  part  with  a  sort  of  sullen  hauteur. 

She  and  Connie  were  down  in  the  dressing-rooms 
one  day  after  a  rehearsal  chatting  with  the  woman  star 
of  a  travelling  stock  company,  who  chanced  to  be  there, 
when  Barbara  Toland  suddenly  came  in  upon  them. 

"Oh,  Miss  Page,"  said  Barbara  in  relief,  "I  am  so 
glad  to  find  you!  I  don't  know  whether  you  heard  Mr. 


78  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


Pope  announce  that  we're  to  have  our  dress  rehearsal 
on  Saturday,  at  the  yacht  club  in  Sausalito?  There  is 
quite  a  large  stage." 

Julia  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  can  come  Saturday,"  she  ob 
jected,  only  anxious  to  be  disobliging. 

"Oh,  you  musty"  said  Barbara  brightly.     "Do  try! 

tYou  take  the  one- forty-five  from  the  Sausalito  ferry, 
and  somebody'll  meet  you!  And  if  we  should  be  kept 
later  than  we  expect,  somebody'll  bring  you  home!" 

"I  have  a  friend  who  would  come  for  me,"  said  Julia 
stiffly,  thinking  of  Mark. 

For  just  a  second  mirth  threatened  Barbara's  dignity, 
but  she  said  staidly: 

"That's  fine !     And  remember,  we  depend  on  you ! " 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  family  of  Dr.  Robert  Toland,  discovered  at  break 
fast  in  the  Tolands'  big  house  in  Sausalito  on  an  ex 
quisite  May  morning,  presented  to  the  casual  onlooker 
as  charming  a  picture  of  home  life  as  might  be  found 
in  the  length  and  breadth  of  California.  The  sunny 
dining-room,  with  its  windows  wide  open  to  sunshine  and 
fresh  sea  air,  the  snowy  curtains  blowing  softly  to  and 
fro,  the  wide  sideboard  where  the  children's  outgrown 
mugs  stood  in  a  battered  and  glittering  row,  the  one  or 
two  stiff,  flat,  old  oil  portraits  that  looked  down  from 
the  walls,  the  jars  of  yellow  acacia  bloom,  and  bowls 
of  mingled  wild  flowers;  these  made  a  setting  wonder 
fully  well  suited  to  the  long  table  and  the  happy  family 
about  it. 

There  were  seven  children,  five  girls  and  two  boys; 
there  was  the  gracious,  genial  mother  at  the  head  and 
the  wiry,  gray-haired  and  gray-bearded  surgeon  at  the 
foot;  there  was,  as  usual,  Jim  Studdiford,  and  to-day, 
besides,  there  was  Aunt  Sanna,  an  unmarried  younger 
sister  of  the  doctor,  and  a  little  black-eyed,  delicate 
ten-year-old  guest  of  the  eleven-year-old  Janie,  Keith 
Borroughs,  who  was  sitting  near  to  Janie,  and  evidently 
adoring  that  spirited  chatterbox.  And  there  was  Addie, 
a  cheerful  black-clad  person  in  a  crackling  white  apron, 
coming  and  going  with  muffins  and  bacon,  and  Toy, 
who  was  a  young  cousin  of  Hee,  the  cook,  and  who 
padded  softly  in  Addie's  wake,  making  himself  gener 
ally  useful. 

Barbara,  very  pretty,  very  casual  as  to  what  she  ate, 
sat  next  to  her  father;  she  was  the  oldest  of  the  seven 
Tolands,  and  slipping  very  reluctantly  out  of  her  eigh 
teenth  year.  Ned,  a  big,  handsome  fellow  of  sixteen, 

79 


80  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

came  next  in  point  of  age,  and  then  a  tall,  lanky,  awk 
ward  blond  boy,  Richie,  with  a  plain  thin  face  and  the 
sweetest  smile  of  them  all.  Richie  never  moved  with 
out  the  aid  of  a  crutch,  and  perhaps  never  would.  After 
Richie,  and  nearing  fourteen,  was  a  sweet,  fat,  giggling 
lump  of  a  girl  called  Sally,  with  a  beautiful  skin  and 
beautiful  untidy  hair,  and  a  petticoat  always  dragging, 
a  collar  buttoned  awry,  and  a  belt  that  never  by  any 
chance  united  her  pretty  shirt  waist  to  her  crisp  linen 
skirt.  Only  a  year  younger  than  Sally  was  Theodora, 
whose  staid,  precocious  beauty  Barbara  already  found 
disquieting — "Ted"  was  already  giving  signs  of  rival 
ling  her  oldest  sister — then  came  Jane,  bold,  handsome, 
boyish  at  eleven,  and  lastly  eight-year-old  Constance,  a 
delicate,  pretty,  tearful  little  girl  who  was  spoiled  by 
every  member  of  the  family. 

The  children's  mother  was  a  plump,  handsome  little 
woman  with  bright,  flashing  eyes,  dimples,  and  lovely 
little  hands  covered  with  rings.  There  was  no  gray 
in  her  prettily  puffed  hair,  and,  if  she  was  stouter  than 
any  of  her  daughters,  none  could  show  a  more  trimly 
controlled  figure.  Mrs.  Toland  had  been  impressed  in 
the  days  of  her  happy  girlhood  with  the  romantic  phi 
losophies  of  the  seventies.  To  her,  as  an  impulsive  young 
woman  brimful  of  the  zest  of  living,  all  babies  had  been 
"just  too  dear  and  sweet,"  all  marriages  were  "simply 
lovely"  regardless  of  circumstances,  and  all  men  were 
"just  the  dearest  great  big  manly  fellows  that  ever 
were!"  As  Miss  Sally  Ford,  Mrs.  Toland  had  flashed 
about  on  many  visits  to  her  girl  friends  admiring,  ex 
claiming,  rejoicing  in  their  joys,  and  now,  as  a  mother 
of  growing  girls  and  boys,  there  still  hung  between  her 
and  real  life  the  curtain  of  her  unquenchable  optimism. 
She  loved  babies,  and  they  had  come  very  fast,  and 
been  cared  for  by  splendid  maids,  and  displayed  in  effec 
tive  juxtaposition  to  their  gay  little  mother  for  the 
benefit  of  admiring  friends,  when  opportunity  offered. 
And  if,  in  the  early  days  of  her  married  life,  there  had 
ever  been  troublous  waters  to  cross,  Sally  Toland  had 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  81 

breasted  them  gallantly,  her  fixed,  confident  smile  never 
wavering. 

At  first  Doctor  Toland  had  felt  something  vaguely 
amiss  in  this  persistent  attitude  of  radiant  and  romantic 
surety.  "Are  you  sure  the  boy  understands?"  "D'ye 
think  Bab  isn't  old  enough  to  know  that  you're  just 
making  that  up?"  he  would  ask  uneasily,  when  a  ques 
tion  of  disciplining  Ned  or  consoling  Barbara  arose. 
But  Mrs.  Toland  always  was  sure  of  her  course,  and 
would  dimple  at  him  warningly:  "Of  course  it's  all 
right,  Daddykins,  and  we're  all  going  to  be  happy,  and 
not  even  think  of  our  naughty  old  troubles  any  more!" 

So  the  doctor  gave  her  her  way,  and  settled  back  to 
enjoy  his  children  and  his  wife,  his  yacht  and  his  roses; 
growing  richer  and  more  famous,  more  genial  and  per 
haps  a  little  more  mildly  cynical  as  time  went  on.  And 
the  children  grew  up,  their  mother,  never  dreaming  that 
Barbara  at  eighteen  was  more  than  the  sweet,  light- 
hearted,  manageable  child  she  had  been  at  ten;  that 
Ned  was  beginning  to  taste  of  a  life  of  whose  existence 
she  was  only  vaguely  aware;  that  Sally  was  plotting  an 
escape  to  the  ranks  of  trained  nurses;  that  Ted  needed 
a  firm  hand  and  close  watching  if  she  were  not  to  break 
all  their  hearts.  No,  to  Mrs.  Toland  they  were  still 
her  "rosebud  garden,"  "just  the  merriest,  romping 
crowd  of  youngsters  that  ever  a  little  scrap  of  a  woman 
had  to  keep  in  order!" 

"Now,  you're  going  to  wipe  that  horrid  frown  off 
your  forehead,  Daddy,"  she  would  say  blithely,  if  Doc 
tor  Toland  confessed  to  a  misgiving  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  any  one  of  his  seven,  "  and  stop  worrying  about 
Richie!  His  bad  old  hip  is  going  to  get  well,  and  he'll 
be  walking  just  like  any  one  else  in  no  time!"  And  in 
the  same  tone  she  said  to  Barbara:  "I  know  my  darling 
girl  is  going  to  that  luncheon,  and  going  to  forget  that 
her  hat  isn't  quite  the  thing  for  the  occasion,"  and  said 
to  little  Constance,  "We're  going  to  forget  that  it's 
raining,  and  not  think  about  dismal  things  any  more!" 
No  account  of  flood  or  fire  or  outrage  was  great  enough 


82  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

to  win  from  her  more  than  a  rueful  smile,  a  sigh,  and  a 
brisk:  "Well,  I  suppose  such  things  must  be,  or  they 
wouldn't  be  permitted.  Don't  let's  think  about  it!" 

Women  who  knew  Mrs.  Toland  spoke  of  her  as  "won 
derful."  And  indeed  she  was  wonderful  in  many  ways, 
a  splendid  manager, 'a  delightful  hostess,  and  essen 
tially  motherly  and  domestic  in  type  She  was  always 
happy  and  always  busy,  gathering  violets,  chaperoning 
Sally  or  Barbara  at  the  dentist's,  selecting  plaids  for 
the  "girlies'"  winter  suits.  Her  married  life — all  her 
life,  in  fact — had  been  singularly  free  from  clouds,  and 
she  expected  the  future  to  be  even  brighter,  when 
"splendid,  honourable  men"  should  claim  her  girls, 
one  by  one,  and  all  the  remembered  romance  of  her 
youth  begin  again.  That  the  men  would  be  forthcom 
ing  she  did  not  doubt;  had  not  Fate  already  delivered 
Jim  Studdiford  into  her  hands  for  Barbara? 

James  Studdiford,  who  had  just  now  finished  his 
course  at  medical  college,  was  affectionately  known  to 
the  youngTolands  as  "Jim,"  and  stood  to  them  in  a  rela 
tionship  peculiarly  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Toland.  He  was 
like  a  brother,  and  yet,  actually,  he  bore  not  the  faintest 
real  kinship  to — well,  to  Barbara,  for  instance.  Years 
before,  twenty  years  before,  to  be  exact,  Doctor  Toland, 
then  unmarried,  and  unacquainted,  as  it  happened,  with 
the  lovely  Miss  Sally  Ford,  had  been  engaged  to  a  beau 
tiful  young  widow,  a  Mrs.  Studdiford,  who  had  been 
left  with  a  large  fortune  and  a  tiny  boy  some  two  years 
before.  This  was  in  Honolulu,  where  people  did  a  great 
deal  of  riding  in  those  days,  and  it  presently  befell  that 
the  doctor,  two  weeks  before  the  day  that  had  been  set 
for  the  wedding,  found  himself  kneeling  beside  his 
lovely  fiancee  on  a  rocky  headland,  as  she  lay  broken 
and  gasping  where  her  horse  had  flung  her,  and  straining 
to  catch  the  last  few  agonized  words  she  would  ever  say : 

"You'll — keep  Jim — with  you,  Robert?" 

How  Doctor  Toland  brought  the  small  boy  to  San 
Francisco,  how  he  met  the  dashing  and  indifferent 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  83 

Sally,  and  how  she  came  at  last  to  console  him  for  his 
loss,  was  another  story,  one  that  Mrs.  Toland  never 
tired  of  telling.  Little  Jim  had  his  place  in  their  hearts 
from  their  wedding  day.  Barbara  was  eleven  years 
old  when,  with  passionate  grief,  she  learned  that  he  was 
not  her  half  brother,  and  many  casual  friends  did  not 
know  it  to  this  day.  Jim,  to  the  doctor's  delight,  chose 
to  follow  the  profession  of  his  foster  father,  and  had 
stumbled,  with  not  too  much  application,  through  med 
ical  college.  Now  he  was  to  go  to  New  York  for  hos 
pital  work,  and  then  to  Berlin  for  a  year's  real  grind, 
and  until  the  Eastern  hospital  should  open  classes,  was 
back  in  his  old  enormous  third-floor  bedroom  upstairs, 
enjoying  a  brief  season  of  idleness  and  petting,  the 
handsome,  unaffected,  sunshiny  big  brother  of  Mrs. 
Toland's  fondest  dreams. 

"And  he  can  hardly  keep  his  eyes  off  Babbie,"  the 
mother  confided  to  her  sister-in-law. 

Miss  Toland  gave  her  a  shrewd  glance. 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  get  that  notion  in  your 
head,  Sally!  Babbie  may  be  ready  to  make  a  little 
fool  of  herself,  but  if  ever  I  saw  a  man  who  isn't  in  love, 
it's  Jim!  "said  Miss  Toland,  who  was  a  thin,  gray-haired, 
well-dressed  woman  of  forty,  with  a  curious  magnetism 
quite  her  own.  Miss  Toland  had  lived  in  France  for 
the  ten  years  before  thirty,  and  had  a  Frenchwoman's 
reposeful  yet  alert  manner,  and  a  Frenchwoman's  art 
in  dressing.  After  many  idle  years,  she  had  suddenly 
become  deeply  interested  in  settlement  work,  had  built 
a  little  settlement  house,  "The  Alexander  Toland 
Neighbourhood  House,"  in  one  of  the  factory  districts 
south  of  San  Francisco,  and  was  in  a  continual  state  of 
agitation  and  upset  because  worthy  settlement  workers 
were  at  that  time  almost  an  unknown  quantity  in  Cali 
fornia.  Just  at  present  she  was  availing  herself  of  her 
brother's  hospitality  because  she  had  no  assistant  at  all  at 
the  "Alexander,"  and  was  afraid  to  stay  in  its  very  un 
savoury  environment  alone.  She  loved  Barbara  dearly, 
"but  she  was  usually  perverse  with  her  sister-in-law. 


84  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"You  may  say  what  you  like  about  notions  in  my 
head/'  Mrs.  Toland  answered  with  a  wise  little  nod. 
"But  the  dear  girl  is  radiant^  every  time  she  looks  at 
him,  and  both  Dad  and  I  think  we  notice  a  new  pro 
tective  quality  in  Jim — 

"  Did  Robert  say  so  ? "  Miss  Toland  asked  dryly.  To 
this  Mrs.  Toland  answered  with  a  merry  laugh  and  a 
little  squeeze  of  her  sister-in-law's  arm. 

"Oh,  you  old  Sanna!"  she  chided.  "You  won't 
believe  that  there's  a  blessed  time  when  Nature  just 
takes  the  young  things  by  the  hand  and  pushes  them 
right  into  happiness,  whether  or  no!" 

This  little  talk  had  taken  place  just  before  break 
fast,  and  now  Mrs.  Toland  was  reassuring  herself  of  her 
own  position  with  many  a  glance  at  Barbara  and  at  Jim. 
Barbara  seemed  serious  almost  to  ungraciousness — 
that  might  be  a  sign.  Jim  was  teasing  Sally,  who 
laughed  deeply  and  richly,  like  a  child,  and  spilled  her 
orange  juice  on  her  fresh  gown.  Perhaps  he  was  trying 
to  pique  Barbara  by  assuming  an  indifferent  manner — 
that  might  be  it 

"Jim!"  It  was  Barbara  speaking.  Jim  did  not 
hear.  "Jim,"  said  Barbara  again,  patient  and  cold. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  Jim  said  with  swift  contrition. 
His  glance  flashed  to  Barbara  for  a  second,  flashed  back 
to  Sally.  "Now,  you  throw  that — you  throw  that," 
said  he  to  the  latter  young  woman,  in  reference  to  a 
glass  of  water  with  which  she  was  carelessly  toying,  "  and 
you'll  be  sorrier  than  you  ever  were  in  your  life ! " 

"Sally,  what  are  you  thinking  of!"  her  mother  said. 

"Look  out — look  out!"  Sally  said,  swinging  the  glass 
up  and  down.  Suddenly  she  set  it  back  on  the  table 
firmly.  "You  deserve  that  straight  in  your  face,  Jim, 
but  Mother'd  be  mad!" 

"Well,  I  should  think  Mother  would!"  Mrs.  Toland 
said,  in  smiling  reproof.  "But  we  interrupted  Bab,  I 
think.  Bab  had  something  dreadfully  important  to 
say,"  she  added  playfully,  "to  judge  from  that  great  big 
frown!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  85 

"It  wasn't  dreadfully  important  at  all,"  Barbara 
said,  in  cold  annoyance. 

"Oh,  wasn't  it?     And  what  was  it,  dear?" 

"It  was  simply — it  was  nothing  at  all,"  Barbara 
protested,  reddening.  "I  was  just  thinking  that  we 
have  to  have  that  rehearsal  at  the  clubhouse  this  after 
noon,  and  I  was  wondering  if  Jim  would  walk  down  there 
with  me  now,  and  see  about  getting  the  room  ready 

"Dad's  got  an  eleven-o'clock  operation,  and  I'm  going 
to  assist,"  said  Jim. 

"Did  you  forget  that,  dear?"  Mrs.  Toland  asked. 

"It's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Barbara,  her  voice 
suddenly  thick  with  tears.  Her  hand  trembled  as  she 
reached  for  a  muffin. 

"Keith,  do  you  want  to  go  down  with  us  to  the  re 
hearsal  this  afternoon?"  said  Sally  amiably  to  the  little 
guest. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  the  whole  pack  of  us  ought  to 

Jo!"  Ted  protested  in  alarm.  "You  aren't  going  to  let 
aney  and  Con  go,  are  you,  Mother?" 

"Oh,  why  not?"  Mrs.  Toland  asked  soothingly. 
Barbara  here  returned  to  the  discussion  with  a  tragic: 
"Mother,  they  cant!  It  would  look  perfectly  awful!" 

"Well,  you  don't  own  the  yacht  club,  you  know, 
Babbie,"  Ted  supplied  sweetly. 

"Well,"  said  Barbara,  rising,  and  speaking  quickly  in 
a  low  voice,  "of  course  the  whole  family,  including  Addie 
and  Hee,  can  troop  down  there  if  they  want  to,  but  I 
think  it's  too  bad  that  I  can't  do  a  thing  in  this  family 
without  being  tagged  by  a  bunch  ofkidsJ" 

The  door  closed  behind  her;  they  could  hear  her  run 
ning  upstairs. 

"Now  she'll  cry;  she's  getting  to  be  an  awful  cry 
baby,"  said  Janey,  wide  eyed,  pleasurably  excited. 

"Doesn't  seem  very  well,  does  she,  Mummie?  Not  a 
bit  like  herself,"  said  the  head  of  the  house,  raising  mild 
eyebrows. 

"Now,  never  mind;  she's  just  a  little  bit  tired  and 
excited  over  this  'Amazon'  thing,"  Mrs.  Toland  assured 


86  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

him  cheerfully,  "  and  she'll  have  a  little  talk  with  Mother 
by  and  by,  and  be  her  sweet  self  again  by  lunch  time!" 

The  little  episode  was  promptly  blotted  out  by  the 
rising  tide  of  laughter  and  conversation  that  was  usual 
at  breakfast.  Miss  Toland  presently  drifted  into  the 
study  for  some  letter  writing.  Jim  took  a  deep  porch 
rocker,  and  carried  off  the  morning  papers.  Richie, 
sitting  at  his  father's  left,  squared  about  for  one  of  the 
eager  rambling  talks  of  which  he  and  his  father  never 
tired.  The  doctor's  blue  eyes  twinkled  over  his  theories 
of  religion,  science,  history,  poetry,  and  philosophy. 
Richie's  lean,  colourless  face  was  bright  with  interest. 
Ted  volunteered,  as  she  often  volunteered  of  late,  to  go 
for  the  mail,  and  sauntered  off  under  a  red  parasol,  and 
Mrs.  Toland  slipped  from  the  table  just  in  time  to  way 
lay  her  oldest  son  in  the  hall. 

"Not  going  to  catch  the  9:40,  Ned?"  she  asked. 

"Sure  pop  I  am!"  He  was  sorry  to  be  caught,  and 
she  saw  it  under  his  bluff,  pleasant  manner. 

"You  couldn't  take  the  10:20  with  Dad  and  Jim?" 

"I've  got  to  meet  Reynolds  at  half-past  ten,  Mother," 
the  boy  said  patiently. 

"Reynolds!"  she  frowned.  "Don't  like  my  fine  big 

boy  to  have  friends  like  that "  His  eyes  warned 

her.  "Friends  that  aren't  as  fine  and  dear  and  good  as 
he  is!"  she  finished,  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Reynolds  is  all  right,"  said  Ned,  bored,  and  looking 
coldly  beyond  her. 

"And  you'll  be  home  for  dinner,  Ned  ?" 

"Sure!  Unless  the  Orpheum  should  be  awfully  long. 
In  that  case  we  may  get  a  bite  somewhere." 

"Try  to  be  home  for  dinner,"  persisted  the  mother. 
And,  as  if  to  warrant  the  claim  on  his  consideration,  she 
added:  "I  paid  the  Cutter  bill  myself,  dear,  and  Dad 
will  pay  Jordan  next  month.  I  didn't  say  anything 
about  Cutter,  but  he  begged  me  to  make  you  feel  how 
wrong  it  is  to  let  these  things  run.  You  have  a  splendid 
allowance,  Ned,"  she  was  almost  apologetic,  "and 
there's  no  necessity  of  running  over  it,  dear!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  87 

"Sure.  I'm  not  going  to  do  that  again,"  Ned  said 
gruffly,  uncomfortably. 

"That's  right,  dear!  And  you  will — you'll  try  to  be 
home  for  dinner?" 

"Sure  I'll  try!"  and  Ned  was  gone,  down  through  the 
roses  and  through  the  green  gate. 

Mrs.  Toland  watched  him  out  of  sight.  Then  she 
trotted  off  to  Hee's  domain.  Sally  straggled  out  into 
the  garden,  with  Janey  and  Constance  and  the  small  boy 
following  after.  There  was  great  distress  because  the 
little  girls  were  all  for  tennis,  and  Keith  Borroughs 
frankly  admitted  that  he  hated  tennis. 

The  Tolands'  rambling  mansion  was  built  upon  so 
sharp  a  hill  that  the  garden  beds  were  bulkheaded  like 
terraces,  and  the  paths  were  steep.  Roses — delicious 
great  white  roses  and  the  apricot-coloured  San  Rafael 
rose — climbed  everywhere,  and  hung  in  fragrant  fes 
toons  from  the  low,  scrub-oak  trees  that  were  scattered 
through  the  garden.  Every  vista  ended  with  the  blue  bay, 
and  the  green  gate  at  the  garden's  foot  opened  directly 
upon  a  roadway  that  hung  like  a  shelf  above  the  water. 

Sally  and  the  children  gathered  nasturtiums  and 
cornflowers  and  ferns  for  the  house.  The  place  had 
been  woodland  only  a  few  years  ago,  the  earth  was  rich 
with  rotting  leaves,  and  all  sorts  of  lovely  forest  growths 
fringed  the  paths.  Groups  of  young  oaks  and  an  oc 
casional  bay  or  madrone  tree  broke  up  any  suggestion 
of  formal  arrangement,  and  there  were  still  wild  colum 
bine  and  mission  bells  in  the  shady  places. 

Presently,  to  the  immense  satisfaction  of  her  little 
sisters,  Sally  dismissed  them  for  tennis,  and  carried  the 
music-mad  small  boy  off  to  the  old  nursery,  where  he 
could  bang  away  at  an  old  piano  to  his  heart's  content, 
while  she  pasted  pictures  in  her  camera  book,  in  a  sunny 
window.  Now  and  then  she  cast  a  look  full  of  motherly 
indulgence  at  the  little  figure  at  the  piano:  the  pale, 
earnest  little  face;  the  tumbled  black  hair,  the  bony,  big, 
unchildlike  hands. 

The  morning  slipped  by,  and  afternoon  came,  to  find 


88  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Barbara  welcoming  the  arriving  players  at  the  yacht 
club,  and  looking  her  very  prettiest  in  a  gown  of  striped 
scarlet  and  white,  and  a  white  hat.  Hello,  Matty — 
Hello,  Enid — Hello,  Bobby — and  did  any  one  see  Miss 
Page?  Ah,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Page,  awfully  good  of 
you  to  make  it. 

The  girls  dressed  in  a  square  room  upstairs,  lined 
with  hooks  and  mirrors.  Julia  was  not  self-conscious, 
because,  while  different  from  the  crisp  snowy  whiteness 
of  the  other  girls'  linen,  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  her 
well-worn  pink  silk  underwear,  her  ornate  corset  cover, 
and  her  shabby  ruffled  green  silk  skirt  were  anything 
but  adequate. 

Carter  Hazzard  was  not  in  evidence  to-day,  to  Julia's 
relief,  The  rehearsal  dragged  on  and  on,  everybody 
thrown  out  because  Miss  Dorothy  Chase,  the  girl  who 
was  to  play  Wilhelmina,  failed  to  appear.  Julia  took 
the  part,  when  it  was  finally  decided  to  go  on  without 
Dorothy,  but  by  that  time  it  was  late,  and  the  weary 
manager  assured  them  that  there  must  be  another  re 
hearsal  that  evening.  Hilariously  the  young  people 
accepted  this  decree,  and  Julia  was  carried  home  with 
the  Tolands  to  dinner. 

Good-hearted  Mrs.  Toland  could  be  nothing  less  than 
kind  to  any  young  girl,  and  Julia's  place  at  table  was 
next  to  the  kindly  old  doctor,  who  only  saw  an  ex 
tremely  pretty  girl,  and  joked  with  her,  and  looked  out 
for  her  comfort  in  true  fatherly  fashion.  Julia  carried 
herself  with  great  dignity,  said  very  little,  being  in 
truth  quite  overawed  and  nervously  anxious  not  to 
betray  herself,  and  after  the  first  frightened  half-hour 
she  enjoyed  the  adventure  thoroughly. 

The  evening  rehearsal  went  much  better,  a  final  re 
hearsal  was  set  for  Sunday,  and  Julia  was  driven  to  the 
ten  o'clock  boat  in  the  station  omnibus,  which  smelled 
of  leather  and  wet  straw.  She  sat  yawning  in  the  empty 
ferry  building,  smiling  over  her  recollection  of  dinner 
at  the  Tolands':  the  laughter,  the  quarrels,  the  joyous 
confusion  of  voices. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  89 

Suddenly  struck  by  the  deserted  silence  of  the 
waiting-room,  Julia  jumped  up  and  went  to  the  ticket 
office. 

"Isn't  there  a  train  at  10:03  ?" 

The  station  agent  yawned,  eyed  her  with  pleasant 
indifference. 

"No  train  now  until  12:20,  lady,"  said  he. 

For  a  moment  Julia  was  staggered.  Then  she 
thought  of  the  telephone. 

A  few  minutes  later  she  climbed  out  of  the  station 
omnibus  again,  this  time  to  be  warmly  welcomed  into 
the  Tolands'  lamp-lighted  drawing-room.  Barbara  and 
her  mother  were  still  at  the  yacht  club,  but  the  old 
doctor  himself  was  eagerly  apologetic.  Doctor  Studdi- 
ford,  Ned,  and  Richie  added  their  cheerful  questions 
and  regrets  to  the  hospitable  hubbub,  and  Sally,  who 
lad  been  at  the  piano,  singing  Scotch  ballads  to  her 
:ather,  took  possession  of  Julia  with  heartening  and 
obvious  pleasure. 

Sally  took  her  upstairs,  lighted  a  small  but  ex 
quisitely  appointed  guest  room,  found  a  stiffly  em 
broidered  nightgown,  a  wrapper  of  dark-blue  Japanese 
crepe,  and  a  pair  of  straw  slippers.  Julia,  inwardly  trem 
bling  with  excitement,  was  outwardly  calm  as  she  got 
ready  for  bed;  she  hung  her  clothes  in  a  closet  delight- 
Fully  redolent  of  pine,  and  brushed  and  braided  her 
splendid  hair.  Sally  whisked  about  on  various  errands, 
and  presently  Mrs.  Toland  bustled  in,  brimful  of  hor 
rified  apologies  and  regrets,  and  Barbara  dawdled  after, 
rolling  her  belt  and  starched  stock,  generally  unhook 
ing  and  unbuttoning. 

Perhaps  the  haughty  Barbara  found  the  round-eyed, 
golden-haired  girl  in  a  blue  wrapper  a  little  more 
companionable  than  the  dreadful  Miss  Page,  or  perhaps 
she  was  a  little  too  lonely  to-night  to  be  fastidious  in  her 
choice  of  a  confidante.  At  all  events,  she  elected  to 
wander  in  and  out  of  Julia's  room  while  she  undressed, 
and  presently  sat  on  Julia's  bed,  and  braided  her  dark 


90  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

hair.  And  if  the  whole  adventure  had  excited  Julia,  she 
was  doubly  excited  now,  frantic  to  win  Barbara's  friend 
ship,  nervously  afraid  to  try. 

"You're  an  actress,  Miss  Page?"  asked  Barbara, 
scowling  at  her  hairbrush. 

"Will  be,  I  guess!  I've  had  dozens  of  chances  to 
sign  up  already,  but  Mama  don't  want  me  to  be  in 
any  rush." 

The  other  girl  eyed  her  almost  enviously. 

"I  wish  I  could  do  something — sometimes,"  she 
sighed.  And  she  added,  giving  Julia  a  shamefaced  grin, 
"  I've  got  the  blues  to-night." 

It  was  from  this  second  that  Julia  dated  her  love  for 
Barbara  Toland.  A  delicious  sensation  enveloped  her 
— to  be  in  Barbara's  confidence — to  know  that  she  was 
sometimes  unhappy,  too;  to  be  lying  in  this  fragrant, 
snowy  bed,  in  this  enchanting  room 

"Well,"  said  Barbara  presently,  jumping  up,  "you'll 
want  some  sleep.  If  you  hear  us  rushing  about,  at  the 
screech  of  dawn  to-morrow,  it's  because  some  of  us  may 
go  out  with  Dad  in  the  Crow,  if  there's  a  breeze.  Do 
you  like  yachting?  Would  you  care  to  go?" 

"I've  never  been,"  said  Julia. 

"Oh,  well,  then,  you  ought  to!"  Barbara  said  with 
round  eyes.  "  I'll  tell  you — I'll  peep  in  here  to-morrow, 
and  if  you're  awake  I'll  give  you  a  call!"  she  arranged, 
after  a  minute's  frowning  thought. 

"I  sleep  awfully  sound!"  smiled  Julia. 

But  she  was  awake  when  Barbara,  true  to  her  plan, 
peeped  in  at  five  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  pres 
ently,  in  a  bluejacket's  blouse  and  brief  blue  skirt, 
with  a  white  canvas  hat  on  her  head,  and  a  boy's 
old  gray  jersey  buttoned  loosely  about  her,  followed 
muffled  shapes  through  the  cold  house  and  into  the  wet, 
chilly  garden.  Richie  was  going,  Sally  had  the  gallant 
but  shivering  Jane  and  the  dark-eyed  Keith  by  the 
hand,  and  Barbara  hung  on  her  father's  arm. 

The  waters  of  the  bay  were  gray  and  cold;  a  sharp 
breeze  swept  their  steely  surfaces  into  fans  of  ruffled 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  91 

water.  The  little  Crow  rocked  at  her  anchor,  her  ropes 
and  brasswork  beaded  with  dew.  Julia,  sitting  in  des 
perate  terror  upon  a  slanting  upholstered  ledge,  felt  her 
teeth  chatter,  and  wondered  why  she  had  come. 

Barbara,  Sally,  Richie,  and  their  father  all  fell  to  work, 
and  presently,  a  miracle  to  Julia,  the  little  boat  was 
running  toward  Richardson's  Bay  under  a  good  breeze. 
Presently  glorious  sunlight  enveloped  them,  flashed 
from  a  thousand  windows  on  San  Francisco  hills,  and 
struck  to  dazzling  whiteness  the  breasts  of  the  gulls  that 
circled  Sausalito's  piers.  Everything  sparkled  and 
shone:  the  running  blue  water  that  slapped  the  Crow's 
side,  the  roofs  of  houses  on  the  hillside,  the  green  trees 
that  nearly  concealed  them. 

Growing  every  instant  warmer  and  more  content, 
Julia  sat  back  and  let  her  whole  body  and  soul  soak  in 
the  comfort  and  beauty  of  the  hour.  Her  eyes  roved 
sea  and  sky  and  encircling  hills;  she  saw  the  last  wisp  of 
mist  rise  and  vanish  from  the  stern  silhouette  of  Ta- 
malpais,  and  saw  an  early  ferryboat  cut  a  wake  of 
exquisite  spreading  lacework  across  the  bay.  And 
whenever  her  glance  crossed  Sally's,  or  the  doctor's,  or 
Richie's  glance,  she  smiled  like  a  happy  child,  and  the 
Tolands  smiled  back. 

They  all  rushed  into  the  house,  ravenous  and  happy, 
for  a  nine  o'clock  breakfast,  Julia  so  lovely,  in  her  bor 
rowed  clothing  and  with  her  bright,  loosened  hair,  that 
the  young  men  of  the  family  began,  without  exception, 
to  "show  off"  for  her  benefit,  as  Theodora  scornfully 
expressed  it.  And  there  was  bacon  and  rolls  and  jam 
for  every  one,  blue  bowls  of  cereal,  glass  pitchers  of 
yellow  cream,  smoking  hot  coffee  always  ready  to  run 
in  an  amber  stream  from  the  spout  of  the  big  silver  urn. 
"And  you  must  eat  at  least  four  waffles,"  said  Ned, 
"or  my  father  will  never  let  you  come  again!  He  has 
to  drum  up  trade,  you  know- 
It  was  all  delightful,  not  the  less  so  because  it  was  all 
tinged,  for  Julia,  with  a  little  current  of  something  ex- 


92  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

quisitely  painful;  not  envy,  not  regret,  not  resentment,  a 
little  of  all  three.  This  happy,  care-free,  sun-flooded 
life  was  not  for  her,  how  far,  far,  far  from  her,  indeed ! 
She  was  here  only  by  accident,  tolerated  gayly  for  hos 
pitality's  sake,  her  coming  and  going  only  an  insignifi 
cant  episode  in  their  lives.  Wistfully  she  watched  Mrs. 
Toland  tying  little  Constance's  sash  and  straightening 
her  flower-crowned  hat  for  church;  wistfully  eyed  the 
cheerful,  white-clad  Chinese  cook,  grinning  as  he  went 
to  gather  lettuces;  wistfully  she  stared  across  the  bril 
liant  garden  from  her  deep  porch  chair.  Barbara,  in 
conference  with  a  capped  and  aproned  maid  at  the  end 
of  a  sunny  corridor,  Sally  chatting  with  Richie,  as  she 
straightened  the  scattered  books  on  the  library  table, 
Ted  dashing  off  a  popular  waltz  with  her  head  turned 
carelessly  aside  to  watch  the  attentive  Keith;  all  these  to 
Julia  were  glimpses  of  a  life  so  free,  so  full,  so  invigorating 
as  to  fill  her  with  hopeless  longing  and  admiration. 

All  her  affectation  and  arrogance  dropped  from  her 
before  their  simple,  joyous  naturalness.  Julia  had  no 
feeling  of  wishing  to  impress  them,  to  assert  her  own 
equality.  Instead  she  genuinely  wanted  them  to  like 
her;  she  carried  herself  like  the  little  girl  she  looked  in 
her  sailor  blouse,  like  the  little  girl  she  was. 

At  twelve  o'clock  a  final  rehearsal  of  "The  Amazons " 
was  held  at  the  yacht  club,  and  to-day  Julia  entered 
into  her  part  with  zest,  her  enthusiasm  really  carrying  the 
performance,  as  the  appreciative  "Matty"  assured  her. 
She  had  the  misfortune  to  step  on  a  ruffle  of  her  bor 
rowed  white  petticoat,  at  the  veiy  close  of  the  last  act, 
and  slipped  into  the  dressing-room  to  pin  it  up  as  soon 
as  the  curtain  descended. 

The  dressing-room  was  deserted.  Julia  found  a 
paper  of  pins,  and,  putting  her  foot  up  on  a  chair,  began 
to  repair  the  damage  as  well  as  she  could.  The  day 
was  warm,  and  only  wooden  shutters  screened  the  big 
window  that  gave  on  one  of  the  club's  wide  porches. 
Julia,  humming  contentedly  to  herself,  presently  be 
came  aware  that  there  were  chairs  just  outside  the  win- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  93 

dow,  and  girls  in  the  chairs — Barbara  Toland  and  Ted, 
and  Miss  Grinell  and  Miss  Hazzard,  and  one  or  two 
Julia  did  not  know. 

"Yes,  Mother's  a  darling,"  Barbara  was  saying. 
"You  know  she  didn't  get  this  up,  Margaret;  she  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  yet  she's  practically  carrying 
the  whole  responsibility  now!  She'll  be  as  nervous  as 
we  are  to-morrow  night!" 

Julia  pinned  on  serenely.  It  was  in  no  code  of  hers 
to  move  out  of  hearing. 

"The  only  thing  she  really  bucked  at  was  when  she 
found  Miss  Page  at  our  house  last  night,"  Ted  said. 
"Mother's  no  snob — but  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
her  face!" 

"Was  she  perfectly  awful,  Ted?"  somebody  asked. 

"Who,  Miss  Page?  No-o,  she  wasn't  perfectly  aw 
ful — yes,  she  was  pretty  bad,"  Theodora  admitted. 
"Wasn't  she,  Babbie?" 

"Oh,  well" — Barbara  hesitated — "she's — of  course 
she's  terribly  common.  Just  the  second-rate  actress 
type,  don't  you  know?" 

"Did  she  call  your  Mother  'ma'am'?"  giggled  Enid 
Hazzard.  "Do  you  remember  when  she  said  'Yes, 
ma'am?'  And  did  she  say  'eyether,'  and  'between  you 
and  I '  again  ? "  Something  was  added  to  this,  but  Julia 
did  not  catch  it.  The  girls  laughed  again. 

"Listen,"  said  Ted,  "this  is  the  richest  yet!  Last 
night  Sally  said  to  her,  'Breakfast's  at  nine,  Miss  Page; 
how  do  you  like  your  bath?'  and  she  looked  at  Sally 
sort  of  surprised  and  said, '  /  don't  want  a  bath !' ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  that's  fair,  Teddy,"  Barbara  pro 
tested;  "she's  never  had  any  advantages;  it's  a  class 
difference,  that's  all.  She's  simply  not  a  lady;  she 
never  will  be.  You'd  be  the  same  in  her  place." 

"Oh,  I  would  not!  I  wouldn't  mark  my  eyebrows, 
and  I  wouldn't  wear  such  dirty  clothes,  and  I  wouldn't 
try  to  look  twenty-five "  Ted  began. 

Again  there  was  a  quick  commentary  that  Julia 
missed,  and  another  laugh.  Then  Barbara  said: 


94  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Poor  kid!  And  she  looked  so  sweet  in  some  of 
Sally's  things." 

Julia,  still  bent  over  her  ruffle,  did  not  move  a  muscle 
from  the  instant  she  first  heard  her  name  until  now, 
when  the  girls  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  laugh.  She 
felt  as  if  the  house  were  falling  about  her,  as  if  every 
word  were  a  smashing  blow  at  her  very  soul.  She  felt 
sick  and  dizzy,  cold  and  suddenly  weak. 

She  walked  across  the  room  to  the  door,  and  stood 
there  with  her  hand  on  the  knob,  and  said  in  a  whisper: 
"Now,  what  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?" 

At  first  she  thought  she  would  hide,  then  that  she 
would  run  away.  Then  she  knew  what  she  must  do: 
she  opened  the  dressing-room  door,  and  walked  un 
challenged  through  the  big  auditorium.  Groups  of 
chattering  people  were  scattered  about  it;  somebody 
was  banging  the  piano;  nobody  paid  the  least  attention 
to  Julia  as  she  went  down  the  stairs,  and  started  to  walk 
to  the  Toland  house. 

She  was  not  thinking  now.  She  only  wanted  to  get 
away. 

Nobody  stopped  her.  The  house  was  deserted.  A 
maid  put  her  head  in  Julia's  door,  and  finding  Julia 
dressing  immediately  apologized. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Page!     I  thought " 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Julia  quietly.  She  was  very 
pale.  "Will  you  tell  Mrs.  Toland  that  I  had  to  take 
the  two  o'clock  boat?" 

" Yes'm.     You  won't  be  here  for  dinner?" 

"No,"  said  Julia,  straining  to  make  a  belt  meet. 

"Could  I  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  or  a  sandwich?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you!" 

The  maid  was  gone.  Julia  went  down  through  the 
house  quietly,  a  few  moments  later.  Her  breath  came 
quick  and  short  until  she  was  fairly  on  the  boat,  with 
Sausalito  slipping  farther  and  farther  into  the  back 
ground.  Even  then  her  mind  was  awhirl,  and  fatigue 
and  perhaps  hunger,  too,  made  it  impossible  to  think 
seriouslv.  Far  easier  to  lean  back  lazily  in  the  sun, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  95 

and  watch  the  water  slip  by,  and  make  no  attempt  to 
control  the  confused,  chaotic  thoughts  that  wheeled 
dreamily  through  her  brain.  Now  and  then  memory 
brought  her  to  a  sudden  upright  position,  brought  the 
hot  colour  to  her  face. 

"I  don't  care!"  Julia  would  say  then,  half  aloud. 
"They're  nothing  to  me  and  I'm  nothing  to  them;  and 
good  riddance!" 

May — but  it  was  like  a  midsummer  afternoon  in  San 
Francisco.  A  hot  wind  blew  across  the  ferry  place; 
papers  and  chaff  swept  before  it.  Julia's  skirt  was 
whisked  about  her  knees,  her  hat  was  twisted  viciously 
about  on  her  head.  She  caught  a  reflection  of  herself 
in  a  car  window,  dishevelled,  her  hat  at  an  ugly  angle, 
her  nose  reddened  by  the  wind. 

Mrs.  Tarbury's  house,  when  she  got  to  it,  presented 
its  usual  Sunday  afternoon  appearance.  The  window 
curtains  were  up  at  all  angles  in  the  dining-room,  hot 
sunshine  streamed  through  the  fly-specked  panes,  the 
draught  from  the  open  door  drove  a  wild  whirl  of  news 
papers  over  the  room.  Cigarette  smoke  hung  heavy 
upon  the  air. 

Julia  peeped  into  the  dark  kitchen;  the  midday  meal 
was  over,  and  a  Japanese  boy  was  hopelessly  and  pa 
tiently  attacking  scattered  heaps  of  dishes  and  glass 
ware.  The  girl  was  hungry,  but  the  cooling  wreck  of  a 
leg  of  mutton  and  the  cold  vegetables  swimming  in 
water  did  not  appeal  to  her,  and  she  went  slowly  up 
stairs,  helping  herself  in  passing  to  no  more  substantial 
luncheon  than  two  soda  crackers  and  a  large  green 
pickle. 

Mrs.  Tarbury,  dressed  in  a  loose  kimono,  with  her 
bare  feet  thrust  into  well-worn  Juliet  slippers,  was  lying 
across  her  bed,  in  the  pleasant  leisure  of  Sunday  after 
noon,  a  Dramatic  Supplement  held  in  one  fat  ringed 
hand,  her  head  supported  by  her  pillows  in  soiled  mus 
lin  cases,  and  several  satin  and  velvet  cushions  from  a 
couch.  In  the  room  also  were  Connie  Girard  and  Rose 


96  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Ransome,  who  had  a  bowl  of  soapsuds  and  several 
scissors  and  orange-wood  sticks  on  the  table  between 
them,  and  were  manicuring  each  other  very  fastidiously. 
A  third  actress,  a  young  Englishwoman  with  a  worn, 
hard  face,  rouged  cheeks,  and  glittering  eyes,  was  call 
ing,  with  her  little  son,  upon  Mrs.  Tarbury. 

"Hello,  darling!"  said  the  lady  of  the  house  herself, 
as  Julia  came  in.  The  girls  gave  her  an  affectionate 
welcome,  and  Julia  was  introduced  to  the  stranger. 

"Mrs.  Cloke  is  my  real  name,"  said  the  Englishwo 
man  briskly.  "But  you'd  know  me  better  as  Alice  Le 
Grange,  I  daresay.  You'll  have  heard  of  my  little 
sketches — the  Mirror  gave  Mr.  Cloke  and  I  a  whole 
page  when  first  we  came  to  this  country,  and  we  had 
elegant. bookings — elegant.  I'd  my  little  flat  in  New 
York  all  furnished,  and,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Tarbury,  "I 
was  used  to  everything — the  managers  at  home  all  knew 

me,  and  all,  you  know "     She  laughed  with  some 

bitterness.  "It  does  seem  funny  to  be  out  here  doing 
this,"  she  added.  "But  there  was  the  kiddy  to  con 
sider — -and,  as  I  told  you,  there  was  trouble!" 

"Parties  who  used  their  influence  to  get  'em  out!" 
said  Miss  Girard  darkly,  in  explanation,  with  a  glance 
at  Julia.  "Favouritism " 

"And  jealousy,"  added  Alice  Le  Grange. 

Julia  was  sympathetic,  but  not  deeply  impressed. 
She  had  heard  this  story  in  many  forms  before.  She 
attracted  the  attention  of  little  Eric  Cloke,  and  showed 
him  the  pictures  of  the  Katzenjammer  Kids  and  Foxy 
Grandpa  in  the  newspaper.  Later  she  accompanied 
Rose  and  Connie  to  their  room,  put  on  loose  clothing, 
and  lay  on  her  bed  watching  them  dress. 

The  girls  were  to  dine  together,  with  two  admirers, 
and  urged  Julia  to  ask  a  third  man,  and  come,  too.  Julia 
refused  steadily;  she  was  very  quiet,  and  the  others 
thought  her  tired. 

She  lay  on  her  side,  one  hand  falling  idle  over  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  her  serious,  magnificent ^eyes  moving 
idly  from  Connie's  face  to  Rose's,  and  roving  over  the 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  97 

room.  Hot  sunlight  poured  through  the  dirty  windows 
and  the  torn  curtains  of  Nottingham  lace,  and  flamed  on 
the  ugly  wallpaper  and  the  flawed  mirrors.  A  thousand 
useless  knickknacks  made  the  room  hideous;  every 
possible  surface  was  strewn  with  garments  large  and 
small,  each  bureau  was  a  confusion  of  pins  and  brushes, 
paste  and  powder  boxes,  silk  stockings  and  dirty  white 
gloves,  cologne  bottles  and  powdered  circles  of  dis 
coloured  chamois,  hair  kids  and  curls  of  false  hair, 
handkerchiefs  and  hat  pins,  cheap  imitations  of  jewellery, 
cheap  bits  of  lace,  sidecombs,  veils  and  belts  and  collars, 
and  a  hundred  other  things,  all  wound  up  in  an  in 
distinguishable  mass.  From  these  somewhat  sodden 
heaps  Connie  and  Rose  cheerfully  selected  what  they 
needed,  leaning  over  constantly  to  inspect  their  faces 
closely  in  the  mirrors. 

Julia  watched  them  with  a  sudden,  new,  and  almost 
terrifying  distaste  growing  in  her  heart.  How  dirty  and 
shiftless  and  common — yes,  common — these  girls  were! 
Julia  felt  sick  with  the  force  of  the  revelation.  She  saw 
Connie  lace  her  shabby  pink-brocade  corset  together 
with  a  black  shoestring;  she  saw  Rose  close  with  white 
thread  a  great  hole  in  the  heel  of  a  black  silk  stocking. 
Their  crimped  hair  nauseated  her,  their  rouge  and 
powder  and  cologne.  She  could  hardly  listen  in  patience 
to  their  careless  and  sometimes  coarse  chatter. 

And  when  they  were  gone  she  still  lay  there,  think 
ing — thinking — thinking!  The  sunlight  crept  lower 
and  lower  over  the  room's  disorder;  its  last  bright 
triangle  was  gone,  twilight  came,  and  the  soft  early 
darkness. 

Mrs.  Tarbury  presently  called  Julia,  in  mellifluous 
accents,  and  the  girl  pulled  herself  stiffly  from  the  bed, 
and  went  blinking  down  to  an  improvised  supper.  They 
two  were  alone  in  the  big  house,  and  fell  into  intimate 
conversation  over  their  sardines  and  coffee  and  jam,  dis 
cussing  the  characters  of  every  person  in  the  house  with 
*xiuch  attention  to  trivial  detail.  At  nine  o'clock  some 


98  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

friends  came  in  to  see  Mrs.  Tarbury,  and  Julia  went  up 
stairs  again. 

She  lighted  the  bedroom,  and  began  idly  to  fold  and 
straighten  the  clothes  that  were  strewn  about  every 
where.  But  she  very  speedily  gave  up  the  task:  there 
were  no  closets  to  hang  things  in,  and  many  things  were 
too  torn  or  dirty  to  be  hung  up,  anyway!  Julia  went 
down  one  flight  of  stairs  to  the  nearest  bathroom,  in 
search  of  hot  water,  but  both  faucets  ran  cold,  and  she 
went  upstairs  again.  She  hunted  through  Connie's 
bureau  and  Rose's  for  a  fresh  nightgown,  but  not  find 
ing  one,  had  to  put  on  the  limp  and  torn  garment  one  of 
the  girls  had  loaned  her  a  week  or  two  before. 

Now  she  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  vaguely 
discouraged.  Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  she  did  not  quite 
know  why.  She  opened  a  novel,  and  composed  herself 
to  read,  but  could  not  become  interested,  and  finally 
pushed  up  the  window  the  two  inches  that  the  girls 
approved,  turned  out  the  lights,  and  jumped  into  bed. 
She  would  want  her  beauty  sleep  for  "The  Amazons" 
to-morrow  night.  Julia  had  been  fully  determined, 
when  she  got  home,  to  abandon  the  amateur  company, 
to  fail  them  at  the  very  hour  of  their  performance,  but  a 
casual  word  from  Connie  had  caused  her  to  change  her 
mind. 

"Don't  you  be  a  fool  and  get  in  Dutch  with  Artheris!" 
Connie  had  said,  and  upon  sober  reflection  Julia  had 
found  the  advice  good. 

But  she  got  no  beauty  sleep  that  night.  She  lay  hour 
after  hour  wakeful  and  wretched,  the  jumbled  memories 
of  the  last  twenty-four  hours  slipping  through  her  mind 
in  ceaseless  review:  the  green,  swift-rushing  water, 
with  gulls  flying  over  it;  the  coffee  pot  reflecting  a 
dozen  joyous  young  faces;  the  garden  bright  with 
roses 

And  then,  with  sickening  regularity,  the  clubhouse 
and  the  girls'  voices 

How  she  hated  them  all,  Julia  said  to  herself,  raising 
herself  on  one  elbow  to  punch  her  sodden  pillow,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  99 

sending  a  hot,  restless  glance  toward  the  streak  of  bright 
light  that  forced  its  way  in  from  a  street  lamp.  How 
selfish,  how  smug,  how  arrogant  they  were,  with  their 
daily  baths,  and  their  chests  full  of  fresh  linen,  and  their 
assured  speech!  What  had  Sally  and  Theodora  Toland 
ever  done  to  warrant  their  insufferable  conceit  ?  Why 
should  they  have  lovely  parents  and  an  ideal  home, 
frocks  and  maids  and  delightful  meals,  while  she,  Julia, 
was  born  to  the  dirt  and  sordidness  of  O'Farrell  Street? 

Barbara — but  no,  she  couldn't  hate  Barbara!  The 
memory  of  that  moment  of  confidence  last  night  still 
thrilled  Julia  to  her  heart's  core.  Barbara  had  been 
kind  to  her  in  the  matter  of  Carter  Hazzard,  had  de 
fended  her  to-day,  in  her  careless,  indifferent  fashion. 
Julia's  heart  ached  with  fierce  envy  of  Barbara,  ached 
with  fierce  longing  and  admiration.  She  tortured  her 
self  with  a  picture  of  the  charm  of  Barbara's  life:  her 
waking  in  the  sunshine,  her  breakfast  eaten  between  the 
old  doctor  and  the  young,  her  hours  at  her  pretty  writing- 
desk,  on  the  porch,  at  the  piano.  Always  dignified, 
always  sweet  and  dainty,  always  adored. 

Well,  she,  Julia,  should  be  an  actress,  a  great  actress. 
But  even  as  she  flung  herself  on  her  back  and  stared 
sternly  up  at  the  ceiling,  resolving  it,  her  heart  failed 
her.  It  was  a  long  road.  Julia  was  fifteen;  she  must 
count  upon  ten  or  fifteen  years  at  least  of  slavery  in 
stock  companies,  of  weeks  spent  in  rushing  from  one 
cheap  hotel  to  another,  of  associating  with  just  such 
women  as  Connie  and  Rose.  No  one  that  she  knew,  in 
the  profession,  had  bureaus  full  of  ruffled  fresh  linen, 
had  a  sunshiny  breakfast  table  with  flowers  on  it 

Julia  twisted  about  on  her  arm  and  began  to  cry.  She 
cried  for  a  long  time. 

True,  she  could  marry  Mark,  and  Mark  would  be  rich 
some  day.  But  would  Barbara  Toland  Studdiford — for 
Julia  had  married  them  as  a  matter  of  course — ever 
stoop  to  notice  Julia  Rosenthal?  No,  she  wouldn't 
marry  Mark. 

Then  there  was  her  mother's  home,  over  the  saloon. 


100  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Julia  finally  went  to  sleep  planning,  in  cold-blooded 
childish  fashion,  that  if  her  father  died,  and  left  her 
mother  a  really  substantial  sum  of  money,  she  would 
persuade  Emeline  to  take  a  clean,  bright  little  flat  some 
where,  and  leave  this  neighbourhood  forever. 

"And  we  could  keep  a  few  boarders,"  thought  Julia 
drowsily,  "and  I  will  learn  to  cook,  and  have  nice  little 
ginghams,  like  Janey's ' 

The  amateur  performance  of  "The  Amazons"  duly 
took  place  on  the  following  night,  with  a  large  and  fash 
ionable  audience  packing  the  old  Grand  Opera  House, 
and  society  reporters  flitting  from  box  to  box  between 
the  acts.  Julia  found  the  experience  curiously  flat. 
She  had  no  opportunity  to  deliver  to  Barbara  a  wither 
ing  little  speech  she  had  prepared,  and  received  no 
attention  from  any  one.  The  performers  were  excited 
and  nervous,  each  frankly  bent  upon  scoring  a  personal 
and  exclusive  success,  and  immediately  after  the  last  act 
they  swarmed  out  to  greet  friends  in  the  house,  and 
Babel  ensued. 

Walking  soberly  home  with  Mark  at  half-past  eleven, 
with  her  cheque  in  her  purse,  Julia  decided  bitterly  that 
she  washed  her  hands  of  them  all;  she  was  done  with  San 
Francisco's  smart  set,  she  would  never  give  another 
thought  to  a  single  one  of  them. 


CHAPTER  V 

DAYS  of  very  serious  thinking  followed  this  experi 
ence.  The  face  of  the  world  was  changed.  Much  that 
had  been  unnoticed,  or  taken  for  granted,  became  insuf 
ferable  to  Julia  now.  She  winced  at  Connie's  stories, 
she  looked  with  a  coldly  critical  eye  at  Mrs.  Tarbury's 
gray  hair  showing  through  a  yellow  "front";  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  the  boarding-house  sickened  her.  She  was 
accustomed  to  helping  Mrs.  Tarbury  with  the  house 
work,  not  in  any  sense  as  payment  for  her  board — for 
never  was  hospitality  more  generously  extended — but 
merely  because  she  was  there,  and  idle,  and  energetic; 
but  she  found  this  a  real  hardship  now.  The  hot,  close 
bedrooms,  odorous  of  perfume  and  cigarette  smoke,  the 
grayish  sheets  and  thin  blankets  were  odious  to  her;  she 
longed  to  set  fire  to  the  whole,  and  start  afresh,  with 
clean  new  furnishings. 

Presently  Connie  asked  her  if  she  would  care  to  talk  to 
a  manager  about  going  on  an  "  eleven  weeks'  circuit,"  as 
assistant  to  a  sleight-of-hand  performer. 

"Twenty  a  week,"  said  Connie,  "  and  a  whole  week  in 
Sacramento  and  another  in  Los  Angeles.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  wear  a  little  suit  like  a  page,  and  hand  him 
things.  Rose  says  he  looks  like  an  old  devil — I  haven't 
seen  him,  but  you  can  sit  on  him  easy  enough.  And 
the  Nevilles  are  making  the  same  trip,  and  she's  a  real 
nice  woman.  Not  much,  Ju,  but  it's  a  start,  and  I  think 
we  could  land  it  for  you." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Julia  said  vaguely. 

"Well,  wake  up!"  said  Connie  briskly.  "Do  you 
want  it?" 

"I'd  rather  wait  until  Mama  gets  here,"  the  younger 
girl  decided  uncomfortably.  And  that  afternoon,  in 

101 


102  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

vague  hope  of  news  of  her  mother,  she  took  a  Mission 
Street  car  and  went  out  to  call  on  her  grandmother. 

As  usual,  old  Mrs.  Cox's  cheap  little  house  reeked  of 
soapsuds  and  carbolic  acid.  Julia,  admitted  after  she 
had  twisted  the  little  gong  set  in  the  panels  of  the  street 
door,  kissed  her  grandmother  in  a  stifling  dark  hall. 
Mrs.  Cox  was  glad  of  company,  she  limped  ahead  into 
her  little  kitchen,  chattering  eagerly  of  her  rheumatism 
and  of  family  matters.  She  told  Julia  that  May's 
children,  Evelyn  and  Marguerite,  were  with  her, 
Marguerite  holding  a  position  as  dipper  in  a  nearby 
candy  factory,  and  Evelyn  checking  in  an  immense 
steam  laundry. 

"How  many  children  has  Aunt  May  now?"  Julia 
asked,  sighing. 

"She's  got  too  many!"  Mrs.  Cox  said  sharply.  "A 
feller  like  Ed,  who  never  keeps  a  position  two  weeks 
running,  has  got  no  business  to  raise  such  a  family!  For 
a  while  May  had  two  of  the  boys  in  a  home " 

"Oh,  really!"  said  Julia,  distressed. 

"Lloyd  and  Elmer — yes,  but  they're  home  again 
now,"  the  old  woman  pursued.  "May  felt  dreadful 
when  they  went,  but  I  guess  she  wasn't  so  awfully  glad 
to  get  them  back.  Boys  make  a  lot  of  work." 

"Elmer  and  Lloyd,  and  then  there  was  Muriel,  and 
another  baby?"  Julia  asked. 

"Muriel  and  Geraldine,  and  then  the  baby,  Regina." 

"Has  Aunt  May  seven  children?"  Julia  asked,  awed, 

Mrs.  Cox  delayed  the  brewing  of  a  pot  of  tea  while  she 
counted  them  with  a  bony  knotted  hand.  Then  she 
nodded.  Julia  digested  the  fact  in  frowning  silence. 

"Grandma,"  said  she  presently,  "did  you  ever  have 
enough  money?" 

Mrs.  Cox,  now  drinking  her  tea  from  a  saucer,  smiled 
toothlessly. 

"Oh,  sure,"  said  she,  with  a  cackle  of  laughter. 
"Why,  there's  nobody  knows  it,  but  I'm  rich!'  But 
immediately  the  sorry  joke  lost  flavour.  The  old 
woman  sighed,  and  into  her  wrinkled  face  and  filmed 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  103 

eyes  there  came  her  usual  look  of  patient  and  unintelli 
gent  endurance.  "I've  never  yet  had  a  dollar  that 
didn't  have  to  do  two  dollars'  work,"  said  she,  suddenly, 
in  a  mighty  voice,  staring  across  the  kitchen,  and  lifting 
one  hand  as  if  she  were  taking  an  oath.  "I've  never 
laid  down  at  night  when  I  wasn't  so  tired  my  back  was 
splitting.  I've,  never  had  no  thanks  and  no  ease — the 
sixty  years  of  my  life !  There's  some  people  meant  to  be 
rich,  Julia,  and  some  that'll  be  poor  the  longest  day  of 
their  lives,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it!" 

"I  know — but  it  don't  seem  fair,"  Julia  mused.  She 
presently  went  on  an  errand  for  her  grandmother,  and 
came  back  with  sausages  and  fresh  pulpy  bread  and 
large  spongy  crullers  from  the  grocery.  By  this  time 
the  windy  summer  twilight  was  closing  in,  and  the  home- 
going  labourers  and  factory  hands  were  filing  home 
through  the  dirty  streets.  Julia  found  her  two  cousins  in 
the  lamp-lighted  kitchen,  Evelyn  rather  heavy  and  coarse 
looking,  Marguerite  reedy  and  thin,  both  wearing  an 
unwholesome  pallor.  They  made  a  little  event  of  her 
coming,  and  the  three  girls  chatted  gayly  enough  through 
out  the  meal,  which  was  eaten  at  the  kitchen  table  and 
washed  down  with  strong  tea. 

Julia's  grandfather,  a  gnarled  old  man  in  a  labourer's 
rough  clothes,  who  reeked  of  whiskey,  mumbled  his 
meal  in  silence,  and  afterward  went  into  the  room  known 
as  the  parlour,  snarling  as  he  went  that  some  one  must 
come  in  and  light  his  lamp.  Julia  went  in  with  Evelyn 
to  the  rather  pitiful  room:  a  red  rug  was  on  the  floor, 
and  there  were  two  chairs  and  a  cheap  little  table,  besides 
the  big  chair  in  which  the  old  man  settled  himself. 

"Ain't  he  going  out,  Grandma?"  said  Evelyn,  return 
ing  to  the  kitchen,  and  exchanging  a  rueful  look  with 
Marguerite. 

"  Well,  I  thought  he  was ! "  Mrs.  Cox  made  a  pilgrim 
age  to  the  parlour  door,  and  returned  confident.  "  He'll 
go  out!"  she  said  reassuringly. 

"Comp'ny  coming?"  Julia  asked  smilingly.  The 
other  girls  giggled  and  looked  at  each  other. 


104  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Well,  why  couldn't  Grandpa  sit  in  the  kitchen?" 
the  girl  asked.  "There's  a  better  light  out  here!" 

"Catch  him  doing  anything  decent,"  Evelyn  said, 
and  Marguerite  added:  "And,  Ju,  he'll  sit  there  some 
times  just  to  be  mean,  and  he'll  take  his  shoes  off,  and 
put  his  socks  up " 

"And  nights  he  knows  we  want  the  parlour  he'll 
stay  in  on  purpose,"  Evelyn  supplemented  eagerly. 

"I  wouldn't  stand  for  it,"  Julia  asserted. 

"Pa's  awfully  cranky,"  Mrs.  Cox  said  resignedly, 
"He's  always  been  that  way!  You  cook  him  corn  beef 
— that's  the  night  he  wanted  pork  chops;  sometimes 
he'll  snap  your  head  off  if  you  speak,  and  others  he'll 
ask  you  why  you  sit  around  like  a  mute  and  don't  talk. 
Sometimes,  if  you  ask  him  for  money,  he'll  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket  real  willing,  and  other  times  for  weeks  he 
won't  give  you  a  cent!" 

"  I  wouldn't  put  up  with  it,"  said  Julia  again.  "What 
does  he  do  with  his  money?" 

"Oh,  he  treats  the  boys,  and  sometimes,  when  he's 
drunk,  they'll  borrow  it  off  him,"  said  his  wife.  "Pa's 
always  open-handed  with  the  boys!" 

Evelyn,  who  had  washed  her  coarse,  handsome  face 
at  the  kitchen  sink,  began  now  to  arrange  her  hair  with 
a  small  comb  that  had  been  wedged  into  the  sinkboard. 
Marguerite,  having  completed  similar  operations,  of 
fered  to  walk  with  Julia  to  the  Mission  Street  car. 

"The  worst  of  Grandpa  is  this,"  said  Marguerite, 
on  the  way,  and  Julia  glancing  sideways  under  a  street 
lamp  surprised  an  earnest  and  most  winning  expression 
on  her  cousin's  plain,  pale  face,  "he  don't  give  Grandma 
any  money,  d'you  see? — and  that  means  that  Ev  and  I 
have  to  give  her  pretty  much  what  we  get,  and  so  we 
can't  help  Mamma,  and  that  makes  me  awfully  blue." 

"But — but  Uncle  Ed's  working,  Rita?" 

"Pop  works  when  he  can,  Ju.  Work  isn't  ever  very 
steady  in  his  line,  you  know.  But  he  don't  drink  any 
more,  Mamma  says,  only — there's  five  children  younger' n 
we  are,  you  know " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  105 

"Sure,"  said  Julia,  heavy  oppressed.  But  Mar 
guerite  was  cheered  at  this  point  by  encountering  two 
pimply  and  embarrassed  youths,  and  Julia,  climbing 
a  moment  later  into  a  Mission  Street  car,  looked  back 
to  see  her  cousin  walking  off  between  the  two  masculine 
forms,  and  heard  their  loud  laughter  ring  upon  the 
night. 

About  ten  days  later,  unannounced,  Emeline  came 
home,  and  with  her  came  a  stout,  red-faced,  gray- 
haired  man,  in  whom  Julia  was  aghast  to  find  her  father. 
They  reached  Mrs.  Tarbury's  at  about  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  and  Julia,  coming  in  from  a  call  on  a 
theatrical  manager,  found  them  in  the  dining-room. 
George  had  been  very  ill,  and  moved  ponderously  and 
slowly.  He  looked  far  older  than  Julia's  memory  of 
him.  There  were  sagging  red  pockets  under  his  eyes, 
and  his  heavy  jowls  were  darkened  with  a  day's  growth 
of  gray  stubble.  He  and  Emeline  had  had  a  complete 
reconciliation,  and  entertained  Mrs.  Tarbury  with  the 
history  of  their  remarriage  and  an  outline  of  their  plans. 

George  took  a  heavy,  sportive  interest  in  his  pretty 
girl,  but  Julia  could  not  realize  their  relationship  suffi 
ciently  to  permit  of  any  liberties.  She  smiled  an  un 
easy,  perfunctory  smile  when  George  kissed  her,  and 
moved  away  from  the  arm  he  would  have  kept  about 
her. 

"Don't  liked  to  be  kissed?"  asked  George. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Julia,  in  a  lifeless  voice,  and 
with  averted  eyes.  "Did  you  go  to  the  flat,  Mama?" 
she  asked,  clearing  her  throat. 

"I  did,"  Emeline  answered,  biting  a  loose  thread 
from  a  finger  of  her  dirty  white  gloves.  "I  got  Toom- 
ey's  rent,  and  told  them  that  we  might  want  the  room 
on  the  first." 

"Going  to  give  up  the  flat?"  Julia  asked,  in  surprise. 

"Well" — Emeline  glanced  at  her  husband — "it's 
this  way,  Ju,"  said  she:  "Papa  can't  stand  the  city,  sick 
as  he  is  now " 


106  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

George  coughed  loosely  in  confirmation  of  this,  and 
shook  his  head. 

"And  Papa's  got  a  half  interest  in  a  little  fruit  ranch 
down  in  Santa  Clara  Valley,"  Emeline  pursued.  "So 
Fm  going  to  take  him  down  there  for  a  little  while,  and 
nurse  him  back  to  real  good  health." 

"My  God,  Em,  you'll  die!"  Mrs.  Tarbury  said 
frankly.  "Why'n't  you  go  somewhere  where  there's 
something  doing?" 

"My  sporting  days  are  over,  Min,"  George  said  with 
mournful  satisfaction.  "No  more  midnight  suppers 
in  mine!" 

"Nor  mine,  either.  I  guess  I'm  old  enough  to  settle 
down,"  Emeline  added  cheerfully.  She  and  Mrs.  Tar- 
bury  exchanged  a  look,  and  Julia  knew  exactly  what 
concessions  her  mother  had  made  before  the  reconcilia 
tion;  knew  just  how  sincere  this  unworldly  wifely  devo 
tion  was. 

"Doc  says  I  am  to  have  fresh  air,  and  light,  nourish 
ing  foods,  and  quiet  nights,"  George  explained,  gravely 
important. 

"And  what  about  Julie?"  asked  Mrs.  Tarbury. 

"Well,  we  thought  we'd  leave  Julie  here,  Min," 
Emeline  began  comfortably,  "until  we  see  if  it  works. 
Then  in,  say,  a  month 

"Mama,  you  can't!"  Julia  interrupted,  cheeks  hot 
with  shame.  "Aunt  Min's  got  to  rent  that  room 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Em,"  the  lady  of  the  house 
explained  regretfully:  "Connie's  gone  off  on  the  road 
now,  and  Rose  Ransome's  gone  to  Virginia  City,  and 
there's  a  party  and  wife  that'll  give  me  twenty  a  month 
for  the  room.  And  as  it  happens  I'm  full  up  now, 
Em- 

"Well,  of  course  we'll  pay "  George  was  begin 
ning,  somewhat  haughtily,  but  Emeline,  who  had 
grown  rather  red,  interrupted: 

"It  don't  make  the  slightest  difference,"  she  said, 
with  spirit.  "I  guess  I'm  the  last  woman  in  the  world 
to  want  my  child  to  stay  where  she  isn't  welcome!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  107 

"It  ain't  that  at  all,  Em,"  Mrs.  Tarbury  threw  in 
pacifically,  but  Emeline  was  well  launched  now. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  that  George  was  all  but  passing 
away  with  kidney  trouble,"  Emeline  said,  her  voice 
rising,  "I  never  would  of  let  such  an  arrangement  go 
on  for  five  minutes!  But  there  was  days  when  we  never 
knew  from  hour  to  hour  that  George  wasn't  dying,  and 
what  with  having  him  moved  and  that  woman  holding 
up  his  clothes,  and  telling  the  doctor  lies  about  me,  I 
guess  I  had  troubles  enough  without  worrying  about 
Julie.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now,  Min,"  said 
Emeline,  with  kindly  superiority,  "that  this  isn't  the 
kind  of  a  house  I'm  crazy  about  having  my  daughter 
in,  anyway.  It  ain't  you,  so  much " 

"Ha!  that's  good!"  Mrs.  Tarbury  interpolated,  with 
a  sardonic  laugh. 

"But  you  know  very  well  that  such  girls  as  Rosie  and 
Con "  Emeline  rushed  on. 

"Oh,  my  God,  Em!"  Mrs.  Tarbury  began  in  a  low 
voice  rich  with  feeling,  but  Julia  took  a  hand. 

"Don't  be  such  a  fool,  Aunt  Min!"  she  said,  going 
over  to  sit  on  an  arm  of  Mrs.  Tarbury's  chair,  and  put 
ting  a  caressing  arm  about  her  shoulders.  "And  cut 
it  out,  Mama!  Aunt  Min's  been  kinder  to  me  than 
any  one  else,  and  you  know  it — and  I've  felt  pretty 
darn  mean  living  here  day  after  day!  And  now  I  say  if 
Aunt  Min  has  a  chance  to  rent  her  room 

"God  knows  you're  welcome  to  that  room  as  long  as 
you'll  stay,  Julie,"  Mrs.  Tarbury  said  tremulously; 
"it's  only— 

"If  every  one  was  as  good  to  me  as  you  are,  Aunt 
Min!"  Julia  said,  beginning  to  cry.  Mrs.  Tarbury 
burst  into  sobs,  and  they  clung  together. 

"I  never  meant  that  you  wasn't  awfully  good  to  her, 
Min,"  Emeline  said  stiffly.  Then  her  eyes  watered, 
and  she,  too,  began  to  cry,  and  groped  for  her  handker 
chief.  "I'm  just  worn  out  with  worrying  and  taking 
care  of  George,  I  guess,"  sobbed  Emeline,  laying  her 
head  on  the  arm  she  flung  across  a  nearby  table. 


108  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Don't  cry,  Mama!"  Julia  gulped,  leaving  Mrs. 
Tarbury's  lap  to  come  and  pat  her  mother's  shoulder. 
Emeline  convulsively  seized  her,  and  their  wet  cheeks 
touched. 

"If  any  one  ever  says  that  I  don't  appreciate  what 
you've  done  for  me  and  mine,"  choked  Emeline,  "it's 
a  lie!" 

"Well,  it  didn't  sound  like  you,  Em,"  Mrs.  Tarbury 
said,  drying  eyes  between  sniffs. 

Emeline  immediately  went  over  and  kissed  her,  and 
all  three  laughed  shakily  over  a  complete  reconciliation, 
which  was  pleasingly  interrupted  by  George's  gallant 
offer  to  take  the  whole  crowd  to  dinner,  if  they  didn't 
mind  his  eating  only  tea  and  toast. 

Still,  it  was  decided  that  Julia  should  not  stay  at  Mrs. 
Tarbury's,  but  should  spend  the  next  week  or  two  with 
her  grandmother  in  the  Mission.  Julia's  quiet  accept 
ance  of  this  arrangement  was  both  unexpected  and 
pleasing  to  her  parents. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  girl  was  rather  dazed,  at 
this  time,  too  deeply  sunk  in  a  miserable  contemplation 
of  her  own  affairs  to  be  conscious  of  the  immediate  dis 
comfort  of  the  moment.  She  had  dreamed  many  a 
happy  dream,  as  the  years  went  by,  of  her  father:  had 
thought  he  would  claim  her  some  day,  be  proud  of  her. 
She  had  fancied  a  little  home  circle  of  which  she  would 
be  the  centre  and  star,  spoiled  alike  by  father  and 
mother.  Dearer  than  any  dream  of  a  lover  had  been  to 
Julia  this  hope  for  days  to  come,  when  she  should  be  a 
successful  young  actress,  with  an  adoring  Daddy  to  be 
proud  of  her.  Now  the  dream  was  clouded;  her  father 
was  an  old  man,  self-absorbed;  her  mother — but  Julia 
had  always  known  her  mother  to  be  both  selfish  and  mer 
cenary.  More  than  this,  her  little  visit  in  Sausalito 
had  altered  her  whole  viewpoint.  Ignorant  of  life  as 
she  was,  and  bewildered  by  the  revelations  of  that 
visit,  she  was  still  intelligent  enough  to  feel  an  acute 
discontent  with  her  old  world,  an  agonizing  longing  for 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  109 

that  better  and  cleaner  and  higher  existence.  How  to 
grasp  at  anything  different  from  life  as  it  was  lived  in  her 
mother's  home — in  her  grandmother's,  in  Mrs.  Tar- 
bury's — Julia  had  not  the  most  remote  idea.  Until  a 
few  months  ago  she  had  not  known  that  she  wanted 
anything  different. 

She  brooded  over  the  problem  night  and  day;  some 
times  her  hours  of  gloomy  introspection  were  inter 
rupted  by  bursts  of  rebellious  fury.  She  would  not 
bear  it,  she  would  not  be  despised  and  obscure  and  ig 
norant,  when,  so  close  to  her,  there  were  girls  of  her 
own  age  to  whom  Fate  had  been  utterly  kind;  it  was  not 
her  fault,  and  it  was  not  right — it  was  not  right  to 
despise  her  for  what  she  could  not  help!  But  usually 
her  attitude  was  of  passive  if  confused  endurance. 

Julia  pored  over  the  society  columns  of  the  Sunday 
papers,  in  these  days,  and  when  she  came  across  the 
name  of  Barbara  Toland  or  Enid  Hazzard,  it  was  as 
if  a  blow  had  been  struck  at  her  heart.  Barbara's 
face,  smiling  out  at  her  from  a  copy  of  the  News  Letter, 
made  Julia  wretched  for  a  whole  day,  and  the  mere 
sight  of  the  magazine  that  contained  it  was  obnoxious 
to  her  for  days  to  come.  Walking  with  Mark,  she  saw 
in  some  Kearney  Street  window  an  enlarged  photo 
graph  of  a  little  yacht  cutting  against  a  stiff  breeze, 
and  felt  a  rush  of  unwelcome  memories  suddenly  assail 
her. 

Mark  was  very  much  the  devoted  lover  just  now,  but 
the  contemplation  of  marriage  with  Mark  never  for  a 
moment  entered  Julia's  head.  She  had  really  liked  him 
much  better  when  he  was  only  Hannah's  big  brother, 
who  ignored  all  small  girls  in  kindly,  big-boy  fashion. 
His  adoring  devotion  embarrassed  her,  and  his  demand 
for  a  definite  answer  to  his  suggestion  of  marriage  wor 
ried  and  perhaps  a  little  frightened  her. 

One  summer  Sunday  Mark  asked  her  to  go  to  the 
Park  with  him,  and  the  two  made  the  trip  on  a  Geary 
Street  dummy  front,  and  wandered  through  wide,  sunny 
stretches  of  lawn  and  white  roadway  to  the  amphi- 


110  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

theatre,  where  several  thousand  persons  of  all  ages  and 
conditions  were  already  listening  to  the  band.  Benches 
were  set  in  rows  under  a  grove  of  young  maple  and 
locust  trees,  and  Julia  and  Mark,  sauntering  well  up  to 
the  front,  found  seats,  and  settled  themselves  to  listen. 

Julia,  enjoying  the  sunshine  and  the  good  hour,  looked 
lazily  at  the  curiously  variegated  types  about  them: 
young  men  who  lay  almost  horizontally  in  their  seats, 
their  eyes  shut,  newspapers  blowing  about  their  feet; 
toddling  babies  in  Sunday  white;  young  fathers  and 
mothers  with  tiny  coats  laid  across  their  laps;  groups  of 
middle-aged  Teutons  critically  alert,  and,  everywhere, 
lovers  and  lovers  and  lovers.  Mark  was  pleasantly 
aware  that  his  companion's  beauty  made  her  con 
spicuous,  even  though  Julia  was  plainly,  almost  soberly, 
dressed  to-day,  and  showed  none  of  her  usual  sparkle 
and  flash.  She  wore  a  trim  little  gown  of  blue  serge, 
with  a  tiny  white  ruffle  about  its  high  collar  for  its  only 
relief,  her  gloves  were  black,  her  small  hat  black,  and 
she  wore  no  rings,  no  chains,  and  no  bangles,  a  startling 
innovation  for  Julia.  The  change  in  her  appearance, 
and  some  more  subtle  change  in  face  and  voice  and 
manner,  affected  Mark  like  a  strong  wine. 

"Do  you  know  you're  different  from  what  you  uster 
be,  Julie?"  he  said,  laying  his  arm  about  her  shoulders, 
on  the  back  of  the  bench,  and  squaring  about  so  that  his 
handsome  black  eyes  could  devour  her. 

"Getting  older,  maybe,"  Julia  smiled  indifferently. 
"I'll  be  sixteen  in  no  time,  now!" 

"My  mother  was  only  fifteen  when  she  was  married," 
Mark  said,  in  a  deep  and  shaken  voice,  yet  with  pride 
and  laughter  in  his  eyes.  Julia  flushed  and  looked  at  the 
toe  of  her  shoe. 

"Well,  what  about  it — eh?"  Mark  pursued  in  an 
eager  undertone.  Julia  was  silent.  "What  about  it?" 
he  said  again. 

"Why — why,  I  don't  know,"  Julia  stammered,  un 
comfortably,  with  a  nervous  and  furtive  glance  about 
her;  anywhere  but  at  his  face. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  111 

"  Suppose  I  do  know  ? "  he  urged,  tightening  a  little  the 
arm  that  lay  about  her.  "  Suppose  I  know  for  us  both  ? " 

Julia  straightened  herself  suddenly,  evading  the  en 
circling  arm. 

"Don't,  Mark!"  she  pleaded,  giving  him  a  glimpse  of 
wet  blue  eyes. 

"I'm  not  teasing  you,  darling,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"I'm  not  going  to  tease  you!  But  you  do  love  me, 
Julia?" 

A  silence,  but  she  tightened  the  hold  of  the  little  glove 
that  rested  on  his  free  hand. 

"Don't  you,  Julie?"  he  begged. 

"Why — you  know  I  do,  Mark!"  the  girl  said,  and 
both  began  to  laugh. 

"But  then  what's  the  matter?"  Mark  asked,  serious 
again. 

"Well-  Julia  looked  all  about  her,  and  finally 

brought  her  troubled  eyes  to  rest  on  his. 

"Well,  what,  you  darling?" 

"Well,  it's  just  this,  Mark.  I  don't  know  whether  I 
can  get  it  over  to  you."  The  girl  interrupted  herself  for 
a  little  puzzled  laugh.  "I  don't  know  that  I  can  get  it 
over  to  myself,"  she  said.  "But  it's  this:  I  feel  as  if  I 
didn't  know  myself  yet,  d'ye  see  ?  I  don't  know  what  I 
want,  myself,  and  of  course  I  don't  know  what  I  want 
my  husband  to  be  like — d'ye  see,  Mark?  I — I  feel  as  if 
I  didn't  know  anything — I  don't  know  what's  good  and 
what's  just  common.  I  haven't  read  books,  I  haven't 
had  any  one  to  tell  me  things,  and  show  me  things!" 
She  turned  to  him  eyes  that  he  was  amazed  to  see  were 
brimming  again.  "My  mother  never  told  me  about 
things, "  she  burst  out  incoherently,  "  about  how  to  talk, 
and  taking  baths — and  not  using  cologne!" 

Mark  could  not  quite  follow  this  argument,  but  he 
was  quick  with  soothing  generalities. 

"Aw,  pshaw,  Julie,  as  if  you  aren't  about  as  good  as 
they  make  'em,  just  as  you  are!  Why,  I'm  crazy  about 
you — I'm  crazy  about  the  way  you  look  and  about  the 
way  you  act;  you're  good  enough  for  me!  Julie,"  his 


112  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

voice  sank  again,  "Julie,  won't  you  let  me  pick  out  a 
little  flat  somewheres?  Pomeroy  said  I  could  have  any 
one  of  the  old  squares  for  nothing;  we  could  get  some 
rugs  and  chairs  from  the  People's  Easy  Payment  Com 
pany.  Just  you  and  me,  Julie;  what  do  you  think?" 

"I — I'd  like  to  have  a  cute  little  house,"  said  Julia, 
with  a  shaky  smile. 

"  Sure  you  would !     And  a  garden " 

" Oh,  I'd  love  a  little  garden ! "    The  girl  smiled  again. 

"Well,  then,  why  not,  Julia?" 

She  looked  at  him  obliquely. 

"Suppose  I  stopped  loving  you,  Mark?" 

Mark  gave  a  great  laugh. 

"Once  I  have  you,  Ju,  I'll  risk  it!" 

Child  that  she  was,  a  glimpse  of  that  complete  pos 
session  stained  her  cheeks  crimson. 

"I  have  to  go  down  to  Mama  in  Santa  Clara  next 
week,"  she  submitted  awkwardly. 

"Well,  go  down.  But — how  about  New  Year's, 
Julie?  Will  you  marry  me  then?" 

Julia  got  up,  and  they  walked  away  across  the  soft 
green  of  the  grass. 

"I  don't  honestly  know  what  I  want  to  do,  Mark," 
she  said  a  little  drearily.  "I'm  not  crazy  to  go  to 
Santa  Clara,  and  yet  it's  something  awful — living  at  my 
grandmother's  house!  I'd  like  to  kill  my  grandfather,  I 
know  that.  He's  the  meanest  old  man  I  ever  saw.  I 

f  suppose  I  could  keep  at  Artheris  for  an  engagement — 
he's  awfully  decent — but  now  that  Rose  and  Connie 
have  gone,  I  have  to  go  round  alone,  and — it  isn't  that 
I'm  afraid  of  anything,  but  I  simply  don't  seem  to 
care  any  more!  I  don't  believe  I  want  to  be  an  actress. 
Artheris  offered  me  small  parts  with  the  Sacramento 
Star  Stock,  playing  fourteen  weeks  and  twenty  plays, 
this  winter,  but  I  thought  of  getting  up  there,  and  hav 
ing  to  hunt  up  a  boarding-house Her  voice  sank 

indifferently.  "I  don't  believe  I'd  take  anything  less 
than  ingenue,"  she  added  presently.  "Florence  Pitt 
played  ingenue  in  stock  when  she  was  only  fifteen ! " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  113 

"You  could  work  up,  Ju,"  Mark  suggested,  honestly 
anxious  to  console. 

"Yes,  the  way  Connie  and  Rose  have!"  the  girl 
answered  dryly.  "Con's  been  in  the  business  six  years 
and  Rose  nine!"  Her  eyes  travelled  the  blue  spaces  of 
the  summer  sky.  "I  wish  I  could  go  to  New  York," 
she  said  vaguely. 

"They  say  New  York  is  jam-packed  with  girls  hang 
ing  round  theatrical  agencies,"  Mark  submitted,  to  which 
Julia  answered  with  a  dispirited,  "I  know!" 

George  had  promised  to  send  five  dollars  each  week  to 
old  Mrs.  Cox  for  Julia's  board,  so  that  her  stay  in  the 
Mission  Street  house  was  agreeable  for  more  than  one 
reason,  and  her  cousins  understood  perfectly  that  Julia 
was  to  remain  idle  while  they  continued  to  be  self- 
supporting.  They  had  no  room  in  their  crowded  lives 
for  envy  of  the  prettier  and  more  fortunate  Julia,  but 
Julia  vaguely  envied  them,  seeing  them  start  off  for 
work  every  morning,  and  joined  by  other  girls  and  young 
men  as  they  reached  the  corner.  Evelyn  and  Mar 
guerite  had  each  an  admirer,  and  between  the  romance 
of  their  evenings  and  the  thousand  little  episodes  of  the 
factory  day,  they  seemed  to  find  life  cheerful  enough. 

Julia  tried,  early  in  her  stay,  to  make  the  room  she 
shared  with  her  cousins,  and  her  grandmother's  kitchen, 
a  little  more  attractive.  But  the  material  to  her  hand 
was  not  very  easily  improved.  In  the  bare  bedroom 
there  was  an  iron  bed,  large  enough  to  be  fairly  comfort 
able  for  three  tenants,  two  chairs,  a  washstand,  and 
a  chest  of  drawers  that  would  not  stand  straight.  The 
paper  was  light,  and  streaked  with  dirt  and  mould,  and 
the  bare  wooden  floor  was  strewn  with  paper  candy  bags 
and  crumpled  programs  from  cheap  theatres.  There 
were  no  curtains  at  the  two  windows,  and  the  blue-green 
roller  shades  were  faded  by  the  sun.  Not  a  promising 
field  for  a  reformer  whose  ideal  was  formed  on  a  memory 
of  the  Tolands'  guest  room! 

The  kitchen  was  cuite  as  bad;  worse  in  the  sense  that 


114  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

while  Julia  might  do  as  she  pleased  in  the  bedroom,  her 
grandmother  resented  any  interference  in  what  old  Mrs. 
Cox  regarded  as  her  own  domain.  The  old  woman 
found  nothing  amiss  in  the  dirty  newspapers  that 
covered  the  table,  the  tin  of  melting  grease  on  the  stove, 
the  odds  and  ends  of  rags  and  rope  and  clothespins  and 
stockings  that  littered  the  chairs  and  floor,  the  flies  that 
walked  on  the  ceiling  and  buzzed  over  the  sugar  bowl. 
Julia  quite  enraged  her  on  that  morning  that  she  essayed 
to  clean  a  certain  wide  shelf  that,  crowded  to  its  last 
inch,  hung  over  the  sink. 

"Do  you  need  this,  Grandma — can  I  throw  this 
away?"  the  girl  said  over  and  over,  displaying  a  nearly 
empty  box  of  blacking,  a  moist  bag  tightly  rolled  over 
perhaps  a  pound  of  sugar,  a  broken  egg  beater,  a  stopped 
alarm  clock,  a  bottle  of  toothache  drops,  a  dog's  old 
collar,  a  cracked  saucer  with  a  cake  of  brown  soap 
tightly  adhering  to  it,  a  few  dried  onions,  a  broken  comb, 
the  two  halves  of  a  broken  vase,  and  a  score  of  similarly 
assorted  small  articles. 

"Jest  don't  meddle  with  'em,  Julia,"  Mrs.  Cox  said 
over  and  over  again  uneasily.  "I'm  going  to  give  all 
that  a  thorough  cleaning  when  I  get  around  to  it!" 

She  was  obviously  relieved  when  Julia  gave  the  whole 
thing  up  as  a  bad  job,  and  went  back  to  her  aimless 
wandering  about  the  house.  Mrs.  Cox  never  went  out 
except  to  church,  but  now  and  then  Julia  went  down  to 
Mrs.  Tarbury's  and  vaguely  discussed  the  advisability 
of  taking  a  theatrical  engagement,  exactly  as  if  several 
very  definite  offers  were  under  consideration. 

Just  at  this  time  Julia's  youngest  uncle,  Chester  Cox, 
wrote  his  mother  from  the  big  prison  at  San  Quentin 
that  he  was  coming  home.  The  letter,  pencilled  on  two 
sheets  of  lined,  grayish  paper,  caused  a  good  deal  of  dis 
cussion  between  Mrs.  Cox,  her  husband,  and  her 
granddaughters.  Chester,  now  about  thirty  years  old, 
had  been  pardoned  because  of  late  evidence  in  his 
favour,  when  a  five-year  term  for  burglary  was  but  one 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  115 

quarter  served,  but  in  his  old  father's  eyes  a  jailbird  was 
a  jailbird,  and  Chester  was  still  in  some  mysterious  way 
to  blame.  Mrs.  Cox  was  only  concerned  because  the 
boy  was  ill  and  out  of  a  job  and  apt  to  prove  a  burden, 
but  the  three  girls,  frankly  curious  about  him,  neverthe 
less  reserved  judgment.  He  had  always  been  an  idler, 
he  had  always  been  a  weakling,  but  if  he  really  were 
accused  falsely,  they  could  champion  him  still. 

The  day  he  had  set  for  his  return  was  a  Sunday,  but 
he  arrived  unexpectedly  on  the  Saturday  afternoon,  to 
find  great  trouble  in  the  Mission  Street  house.  Evelyn 
and  Marguerite  were  free  for  the  afternoon,  and  were  in 
the  kitchen  with  Julia  and  their  grandmother.  It  had 
lately  come  to  Evelyn's  ears  that  her  grandfather  had 
been  borrowing  money  on  the  little  property,  and  old 
Mrs.  Cox  was  beside  herself  with  anger  and  fear.  The 
house  was  her  one  hope  against  a  destitute  old  age.  She 
fairly  writhed  at  the  contemplation  of  her  husband's 
treachery  in  undermining  that  one  stay.  While  she 
was  slaving  and  struggling,  he  had  airily  disposed  of 
three  hundred  dollars.  She  was  stifled  by  the  thought. 

"He'd  ought  to  be  sent  to  jail  for  it!"  the  old  woman 
said  bitterly. 

"  You  can't  do  it,"  Evelyn,the  bearer  of  the  bad  news, 
assured  her  impatiently, 

"Well,  he'll  see  what  I  can  do,  when  he  gets  home!" 
Mrs.  Cox  muttered.  Julia,  distressed  by  the  scene,  laid 
her  hand  over  her  grandmother's  old  knotted  one,  as  she 
sat  beside  her  at  the  table,  but  could  find  no  words  with 
which  to  comfort  her.  Her  soul  was  sick  with  this 
fresh  sordid  revelation;  she  felt  as  if  she  must  scream  in 
another  minute  of  existence  in  this  dreary,  dirty  house, 
with  the  glaring  sunshine  streaming  in  the  kitchen  win 
dow  and  a  high  summer  wind  howling  outside. 

The  talk  was  ended  by  a  ring  at  the  door,  and  Julia 
went  through  the  dark,  stifling  passage  to  admit  a  lean, 
pale  young  man,  with  a  rough  growth  of  light  hair  on 
his  sunken  cheeks,  and  a  curious  look  of  not  belonging 
to  his  clothes. 


116  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"It's  Uncle  Chess,  Grandma/'  said  she,  leading  the 
way  back  to  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Cox  gave  her  youngest 
child  a  kiss,  assuring  him  that  she  never  would  have 
known  him,  he  looked  like  a  ghost,  she  said,  and  Chester 
sat  down  and  talked  a  little  awkwardly  to  his  mother 
and  nieces.  His  voice  was  husky,  full  of  apologetic 
cadences;  he  explained  painstakingly  the  chance  that 
had  brought  him  home  twenty-four  hours  early,  as  if  it 
were  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world.  Julia, 
helping  her  grandmother  with  preparations  for  dinner, 
did  not  know  why  she  found  Chester's  presence  unen- 
durably  trying;  she  did  not  know  that  it  was  pity  that 

(wrung  her  heart;  she  only  wished  he  were  not  there. 
An  hour's  talk  cheered  the  newcomer  amazingly,  as 
perhaps  did  also  the  dinner  odours  of  frying  potatoes 
and  bacon.  He  was  venturing  upon  a  history  of  his 
wrongs  when  a  damper  fell  upon  the  little  company 
with  the  arrival  of  the  man  of  the  house.  Her  hus 
band's  return  brought  back  in  a  flood  to  old  Mrs.  Cox's 
heart  the  memory  of  his  outrageous  negotiations  regard 
ing  the  house;  the  three  girls  all  cordially  detested  the 
old  man  and  were  silent  and  ungracious  in  his  presence, 
and  Chester  flushed  deeply  as  his  father  came  in,  and 
became  dumb. 

Old  Cox  made  no  immediate  acknowledgement  of  the 
newcomer's  arrival,  but  grunted  as  he  jerked  a  chair  to 
the  table,  indicating  his  readiness  for  dinner,  and  din 
ner  was  served  with  all  speed.  It  was  only  when  he 
had  drunk  off  half  a  cup  of  scalding  strong  tea  that  the 
man  of  the  house  turned  to  his  last  born  and  said: 

"So,  you're  out  again?" 

"I  should  never  have  been  in!"  Chester  said,  eagerly 
and  huskily. 

"Yes,  I've  heard  lots  of  that  kind  of  talk,"  the  old 
man  assured  him.  "  'Cording  to  what  you  hear  there's 
a  good  many  up  there  that  never  done  nothing  at  all!" 

Julia  saw  the  son  shrink,  and  a  look  of  infinite  wist- 
fulness  for  a  moment  darkened  his  eyes.  He  was  a  stupid- 
looking,  gentle-faced  fellow,  pitiable  as  a  sick  child. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  117 

"Perhaps  you'll  read  these,  Pa,"  he  said,  fumbling  in 
his  pockets  for  a  moment  before  producing  two  or  three 
short  newspaper  clippings  from  an  inner  coat  pocket. 
There — there's  the  truth  of  it;  it's  all  there,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "'Cox  will  immediately  be  given  his  freedom 
— after  sixteen  months  as  an  innocent  victim  of  the  law' 
— that's  what  it  says!" 

"I'll  read  nothin',"  the  old  man  said,  sweeping  back 
the  slips  with  a  scornful  hand,  his  small,  deep-set  eyes 
blinking  at  his  son  like  a  monkey's. 

"Well,  all  right,  all  right,"  Chester  answered,  his 
thin  face  burning  again,  his  voice  hoarsely  belligerent. 

"That's  the  jestice  you'll  get  from  your  father!"  the 
old  woman  said,  with  a  cackle.  Julia  gathered  up  the 
newspaper  clippings. 

"Aren't  you  mean,  Grandpa!"  she  said,  indignantly, 
beginning  to  read. 

"Maybe  I  am,  maybe  I  am,"  he  retorted  fiercely. 

'But  you'll  find  there's  no  smoke  without  some  fire, 

my  fine  lady,  and  when  a  boy  that's  always  been  a  lazy, 

die  shame  to  his  father  and  mother  gets  a  taste  of 

blame,  you  can  depend  that  no  newspaper  is  going  to 

make  a  saint  of  him!" 

"Grandma,  don't  let  him  talk  that  way!"  Julia  pro 
tested,  her  breast  rising  and  falling.  Chester  turned 
to  his  father. 

"Maybe  if  you'd  a-give  me  a  better  chance,"  he  said 
sullenly,  "maybe  if  us  boys  hadn't  been  kicked  around 
so  much,  shoved  into  the  first  job  that  came  handy, 
seeing  Ma  and  the  girls  afraid  to  breathe  while  you  was 
in  the  house- 
Both  men  were  now  standing,  their  faces  close  together. 

"Well,  you  ain't  going  to  have  another  chance  here!" 
the  old  man  shouted.  "I'll  have  no  jailbirds  settin' 
around  here  to  be  petted  and  babied!  Get  that  into 
your  head!  Don't  you  let  me  come  into  the  house  and 
find  you  here  again— 

"Pa!"  protested  Mrs.  Cox,  fired  by  the  eyes  of  her 
granddaughters. 


118  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Yes— an'  'Pa'!"  he  snarled,  pulling  on  his  old  hat, 
and  opening  the  kitchen  door.  "But  it'll  be  Pa  on  the 
wrong  side  of  your  face  if  you  make  any  mistake  about 
it!  Jailbird!"  he  muttered  to  himself,  with  a  final  slam 
at  the  door.  The  others  looked  at  each  other. 

"That's  a  sweet  welcome  home,"  said  Chester,  with 
a  bitter  laugh.  He  was  standing,  his  head  lowered; 
there  was  bewilderment  as  well  as  anger  in  his  look. 

"Pa's  got  to  be  a  terrible  crank,"  said  Mrs.  Cox,  re 
turning  to  her  teapot,  after  a  glance  through  the  window 
at  her  retiring  lord.  "He  carries  on  something  terrible 


sometimes." 


"Well,  he  won't  carry  on  any  longer  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned!"  Chester  said,  a  little  vaguely. 

"I  don't  know  what's  got  into  Pa!"  his  wife  com 
plained. 

"  Don't  you  care,  Uncle  Chess,"  Marguerite  submitted 
with  timid  sympathy. 

"Oh,  no,  sure  I  don't  care,"  the  man  said  with  a  short 
laugh.  "Of  course  it's  nothing  to  me!  A  man  comes 

home  to  his  own  folks,  he's  had  a  tough  time "  His 

voice  sank  huskily.  The  sleeves  of  his  coat  were  too 
short  for  him,  and  Julia  noticed  how  thin  his  wrists  were, 
as  he  gathered  up  his  newspaper  clippings  and  restored 
them  to  his  inside  pocket.  The  women  watched  him 
in  silence.  Presently  he  stooped  down  and  kissed  his 
mother's  forehead,  at  the  edge  of  her  untidy,  grizzled 
hair. 

"Good-bye,  Ma!"  he  said.     "Good-bye,  girls!" 

"It'll  be  a  judgment  on  your  father,"  Mrs.  Cox  pro 
tested.  "I  don't  know  what's  gotten  into  him!" 

But  she  made  no  further  objection;  she  did  not  get 
up  from  her  place  at  table  when  Chester  crossed  the 
kitchen,  opened  the  street  door,  and  went  out. 

"Grandpa's  a  prince,  all  right!"  said  Marguerite 
then,  and  Evelyn  added,  "Wouldn't  it  give  you  a 
pain?" 

"But  I  notice  that  none  of  us  did  anything  about 
it!"  Julia  said  bitterly. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  119 

"If  your  grandpa  found  Chess  here  when  he  got  home 
to-night,  there'd  be  a  reckoning!"  the  old  woman  as* 
serted  dully. 

"And  what  is  Uncle  Chess  supposed  to  do?"  Julia 
demanded. 

"I  betcher  he  kills  himself,"  Evelyn  submitted. 

"I  betcher  he  does,"  her  sister  agreed. 

"Well,  it'll  be  on  your  grandfather's  head!"  the 
old  woman  said.  She  began  to  cry,  still  drinking  her 
tea. 

"I  wonder  if  he  has  any  money?"  speculated  Julia. 

"Where'd  he  get  money?"  Evelyn  said.  Julia,  fol 
lowing  an  uncomfortable  impulse,  went  to  the  window 
in  the  close  little  parlour  and  looked  out  into  the  street. 
It  was  about  six  o'clock,  and  still  broad  day.  The 
wind  had  died  down,  but  the  street  was  dirty,  and  the 
glaring  light  of  the  sinking  sun  fell  full  on  the  faces  of 
the  home-going  stream  of  men  and  women.  Julia's 
quick  eye  found  Chester  instantly.  He  had  loitered 
no  farther  than  the  corner,  a  hundred  feet  away,  and 
was  standing  there,  irresolute,  stooped,  still  wearing  his 
look  of  vague  bewilderment. 

The  girl  ran  upstairs,  and  snatched  her  hat  and  a 
light  coat.  Two  minutes  later  she  was  downstairs 
again,  the  chatelaine  bag  in  which  all  girls  carried  their 
money  in  those  days  jumping. at  her  belt. 

But  in  those  two  minutes  Chester  had  disappeared. 
Julia  felt  sick  with  disappointment  as  she  reached  the 
corner  only  to  find  him  gone.  She  stood  looking  quickly 
about  her:  up  the  street,  down  the  street;  he  was  gone. 
It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  she  could  not  go  back  to 
her  grandmother's  house  again;  a  disgust  for  everything 
and  everybody  in  it  shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  She 
was  sorry  for  them,  her  grandmother,  her  cousins,  but 
the  simple  fact  remained  that  they  could  bear  this  sort 
of  existence  and  she  could  not;  it  was  stifling  her;  it 
was  killing  her. 

"If  they  minded  things  as  I  do  they  would  change 
them,  somehow!"  said  Julia  to  herself,  walking  on 


120  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

blindly.  "My  grandmother  should  never  have  let 
things  get  to  such  a  pass — I  can't  bear  it!  The  smells 
and  the  fights " 

She  stopped  a  car,  one  of  the  cable  cars  that  ran  out 
into  the  factory  district.  Julia  had  no  idea  where  she 
was  going,  nor  did  she  care.  She  got  on  because  one  of 
the  small  forward  outside  seats  was  empty,  and  she  could 
sit  there  comfortably.  The  car  went  on  and  on, 
through  a  less  and  less  populated  district,  but  Julia, 
buried  in  unhappy  thought,  paid  no  attention  to  route 
or  neighbourhood. 

"All  off!"  shouted  the  conductor  presently.  Julia 
had  meant  to  keep  her  seat  for  the  return  trip,  but  the 
man's  glance  at  her  young  beauty  annoyed  her,  and  she 
got  off  the  car. 

She  walked  aimlessly  along  a  battered  cement  side 
walk,  between  irregularly  placed  and  shabby  little 
houses.  These  were  of  too  familiar  a  type  to  interest 
Julia,  but  she  presently  came  to  a  full  stop  before  a  wide, 
one-story  brick  building,  with  a  struggling  garden  sep 
arating  it  from  the  street,  and  straggling  window  boxes 
at  every  one  of  the  wide  windows.  A  flight  of  steps 
led  up  from  the  garden  to  the  pretty  white  front  door, 
and  a  neat  brass  plate,  screwed  to  the  cement  at  the 
turn  of  the  steps,  bore  the  words:  "Alexander  Toland 
Neighbourhood  House." 

It  would  have  been  a  pretty  house  anywhere,  with 
its  crisp  dotted  muslin  curtains,  its  trim  colonial  walls, 
but  in  this  particular  neighbourhood  it  had  an  added 
charm  of  contrast,  and  Julia  stood  before  it  literally 
spellbound  by  admiration,  and  smitten,  too,  with  that 
strange  sick  fascination  to  which  the  mere  name  of  To 
land  subjected  her. 

And  while  she  stood  there,  Miss  Anna  Toland  came 
to  the  door  and  stood  looking  down  at  the  street.  Julia's 
heart  began  to  beat  very  fast,  and  the  blood  rushed  to 
her  face.  She  bowed,  and  Miss  Toland  bowed. 

"Oh,  Miss  Page!"  said  Miss  Toland  then,  crisply 
ready  with  the  name  and  the  request.  "This  is  very 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  121 

fortunate!  I  wonder  if  you  won't  come  in  and  help  me 
a  moment?  I've  been  trying  for  one  hour  to  make  the 
hall  key  work." 

Julia  said  nothing.     She  mounted  the  steps  and  fol 
lowed  Miss  Toland  into  the  hall.    ' 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  Alexander  Toland  Neighbourhood  House,'  fa 
miliarly  known  by  all  who  had  anything  to  do  with  k 
as  The  Alexander,  was  small,  as  neighbourhood  houses 
go,  but  exceptionally  pretty  and  complete,  and  finan 
cially  so  well  backed  by  a  certain  group  of  San  Francis 
co's  society  women  as  to  be  entirely  free  from  the 
common  trouble  of  its  kind.  Miss  Toland  had  built  it, 
and  had  made  it  her  personal  business  to  interest  some 
of  her  friends  in  its  success,  but  she  now  found  herself 
confronted  by  an  unexpected  problem:  it  seemed  im 
possible  to  get  an  experienced  woman  as  resident  worker 
with  whom  Miss  Toland  could  live  in  peace.  The  few 
women  who  had  been  qualified  to  try  the  position  had 
all  swiftly,  quietly,  and  firmly  resigned,  with  that 
pained  reticence  that  marks  the  trained  worker.  Miss 
Toland  told  her  committees,  with  good-humoured  tol 
erance,  that  Miss  Smith  or  Mrs.  Brown  had  been  a 
splendid  person,  perfectly  splendid,  but  unable  to  under 
stand  the  peculiar  conditions  that  made  social  work  in 
San  Francisco  utterly — and  totally — different  from  so 
cial  work  elsewhere.  Meanwhile,  she  did  the  best  she 
could  with  volunteer  workers,  daily  bewailing  the  fact 
that,  without  the  trained  worker,  her  girls'  clubs  and 
classes,  her  boys'  and  mothers'  clubs,  had  been  difficult 
to  start,  and  maintained  but  a  languishing  existence. 
She  was  a  sanguine  woman,  and  filled  with  confidence 
in  the  eventual  success  of  The  Alexander,  and  with 
energy  to  push  it  toward  a  completely  fruitful  existence, 
but  she  herself  was  inexperienced,  and  Julia  had  chanced 
upon  her  in  a  thoroughly  discouraged  mood. 

Julia's  first  aid — in  climbing  through  a  transom  and 
opening   a   stubborn   door — being   entirely   successful. 

122 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  1  m 

Miss  Toland  kept  her  to  show  her  the  little  establish 
ment,  and  was  secretly  soothed  and  pleased  by  the  girl's 
delight. 

The  front  door  opened  into  a  wide  square  hall,  fur 
nished  with  neat  Mission  chairs  and  tables,  and  with  a 
large  brown  rug.  There  were  two  doors  on  each  side, 
and  a  large  double  door  at  the  back.  One  door  on  the 
right  led  to  a  model  kitchen,  floored  in  bright  blue-and- 
white  linoleum,  and  with  a  shining  stove,  a  shining 
dresser  full  of  blue-and-white  china,  a  tiled  sink,  a  table, 
and  two  chairs.  The  other  right-hand  door  opened  into 
a  little  committee  room,  where  there  were  wall  closets 
full  of  ginghams  and  boxes  of  buttons  and  braid,  and 
more  Mission  furniture.  On  the  left  each  door  opened 
into  a  bedroom,  one  occupied  by  Miss  Toland  and  lit 
tered  by  her  possessions,  one  empty  and  immaculate. 
The  two  were  joined  by  a  shining  little  bath.  Julia 
looked  at  the  white  bed  in  the  unoccupied  room,  the 
white  bureau,  the  white  chairs,  the  white  dotted  cur 
tains  at  the  windows,  the  dark-blue  rugs  on  a  painted 
floor,  and  a  gasp  of  honest  admiration  broke  from  her. 
Miss  Toland  gave  her  a  quick  approving  glance,  but 
said  nothing. 

Through  the  big  double  door  they  stepped  straight 
on  the  stage  that  rilled  one  end  of  the  tiny  auditorium, 
Miss  Toland  touching  an  electric  button  that  flooded 
the  room  with  light,  for  Julia's  benefit.  There  were 
wide  windows,  curtained  in  crisp  dotted  white,  all  about 
the  hall,  and  a  door  at  the  far  end  that  gave,  as  Julia 
afterward  learned,  on  a  side  street.  An  upright  piano 
was  on  the  stage,  and  at  one  side  a  flight  of  three  or  four 
steps  led  down  to  the  hall.  The  main  floor  was  broken 
by  tables  and  benches,  a  hundred  sewing  bags  of  blue 
linen  hung  on  numbered  hooks  on  the  wall,  and  at  the 
far  end  there  were  two  deep  closets  for  kindergarten 
materials  and  sewing  supplies. 

The  tour  of  inspection  was  ended  in  the  kitchen, 
where  Miss  Toland  put  several  paper  bags  on  the  table, 
dropped  into  a  chair,  and  asked  Julia  also  to  be  seated. 


l  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  she  said,  reaching 
behind  her  to  get  a  knife  from  a  drawer.  With  the 
knife  she  cut  a  spongy  crust  from  a  loaf  of  bread,  without 
fairly  withdrawing  it  from  the  bag,  and  subtracting  a 
thin  pink  slice  of  ham  from  some  oiled  paper  in  another 
bag,  she  folded  it  into  the  crust  and  began  to  eat  it.  "  I 
picnic  here — when  I  come,"  said  Miss  Toland,  un 
embarrassed.  "You've  had  your  dinner?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Julia,  "but  do  let  me And 

without  further  words  she  took  two  plates  from  the 
dresser,  served  the  ham  neatly,  cut  a  slice  or  two  of 
bread,  and  removed  the  bags. 

"Ah,  yes,  that's  much  better!"  Miss  Toland  said. 
"There's  tea  there.  I  suppose  you  couldn't  manage  a 
cup?" 

A  deep  and  peculiar  pleasure  began  to  thrill  through 
Julia.  She  stepped  to  the  entrance  hall,  laid  aside  her 
hat  and  jacket,  and  returned  to  set  about  tea-making 
with  deftness  and  quickness.  She  found  a  wilted  slice 
of  butter  in  a  safe,  and  set  out  cups  and  sugar  beside  it-. 
Miss  Toland  stopped  eating,  and  watched  these  prepara 
tions  with  great  satisfaction.  Presently  she  stood  up  to 
pin  her  handsome  silk-lined  skirt  about  her  hips,  and 
pushed  her  face  veil  neatly  above  the  brim  of  her  hat. 
The  water  in  the  white  enamelled  kettle  boiled,  and 
Julia  made  tea  in  a  blue  Japanese  pot. 

"This  is  much  better!"  said  Miss  Toland  again.  "I 
get  to  be  a  perfect  barbarian — eating  alone!"  She 
rummaged  in  a  closet.  "Here's  some  jam  Sally  sent," 
said  she,  producing  it.  "They  are  always  sending  me 
pies  and  fresh  eggs  and  jelly;  they  are  always  afraid  of 
my  starving  to  death." 

They  began  the  meal  again,  and  this  time  Julia  joined 
her  hostess,  and  really  enjoyed  her  tea  and  bread  and 
jam.  It  was  dark  now,  and  they  drew  the  shades  at  the 
two  street  windows  and  turned  on  the  electric  light. 
Julia  knew  by  some  instinct  that  she  need  not  be  afraid 
of  the  gray-haired,  eccentric,  kindly  woman  opposite;  in 
that  very  hour  she  assumed  a  maternal  attitude  that 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  125 

was  to  be  the  key  to  her  relationship  with  Miss  Toland 
for  many  years.  The  two,  neither  realizing  it,  instantly 
liked  each  other.  Never  in  her  rather  reserved  little  life 
had  Julia  shown  her  heart  as  she  showed  it  in  this  hour 
over  the  teacups. 

"  So  you  like  it  ? "  said  Miss  Toland.  "  It's  small,  but 
it's  the  most  complete  thing  of  the  kind  in  the  State. 
I've  been  scrambling  along  here  as  best  I  might  for  three 
months,  but  as  soon  as  I  get  a  resident  head  worker, 
we'll  get  everything  straightened  out."  She  gave  her 
nose  a  sudden  rub  with  her  hand,  frowned  in  a  worried 
fashion. 

"Girls — regularly  appointed  girls  ought  to  take  care 
of  all  this!"  she  went  on,  indicating  the  kitchen  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand.  "But  no!  You  can't  get  them  to 
systematize!  Now  I  tell  you,"  she  added  sternly,  "I 
am  going  to  lay  down  the  law  in  this  house!  They  do  it 
in  other  settlement  houses,  and  it  shall  be  done  here! 
Every  yard  of  gingham,  every  thimble  and  spool  of 
thread,  is  going  to  be  accounted  for!  Do  you  suppose 
that  at  the  Telegraph  Hill  House  they  allow  the  children 
to  run  about  grabbing  here  and  grabbing  there — poh! 
They'd  laugh  at  you!" 

"Of  course,"  said  Julia  vaguely. 

"Classes  of  the  smaller  girls  should  keep  this  kitchen 
and  bathroom  like  a  pin,"  said  Miss  Toland  sharply. 

"And,  as  soon  as  we  get  a  regular  manager  in  here 

Now  that's  what  I  tell  my  sister  Sally,  that  is  Mrs. 
Toland,"  she  broke  off  to  say.  "Here's  Barbara,  home 
from  a  finishing  school  and  six  months  abroad.  Why 
couldn't  she  step  in  here  ?  But  no !  Barbara'll  come  in 
now  and  then  if  it's  a  special  occasion 

"But  she  has  such  wonderful  good  times  at  home;  she 
has  everything  in  the  world  now,"  Julia  said  wistfully. 
Miss  "^oland  gave  her  a  shrewd  glance;  it  was  as  if  she 
saw  Jc-iia  for  the  first  time. 

"Barbara?"  Barbara's  aunt  poured  herself  an- 
of  her  cup  of  tea,  and  fell  into  thought  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  Then  she  set  down  her  cup,  straightened  herself 


126  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

suddenly,  and  burst  forth:  "Barbara!  That's  one  of 
the  most  absurd  things  in  the  world,  you  know — the 
supposition  that  a  girl  like  Barbara  is  perfectly  happy! 
Perfectly  wretched  and  discontented,  if  you  ask  me!" 

"Oh,  no!"  Julia  protested. 

"Oh,  yes!  Barbara's  idle,  she's  useless,  she  doesn't 
know  what  to  do  with  herself.  No  girl  of  her  age  does. 
I  know,  for  my  mother  brought  me  up  in  the  same  way. 
She  got  a  lot  of  half-baked  notions  in  school;  she  had  a 
!  year  of  college  in  which  to  get  a  lot  more;  she  came  home 
afraid  to  go  back  to  college  for  fear  of  missing  something 
at  home,  afraid  of  staying  home  for  fear  of  missing  some 
thing  at  college;  compromised  on  six  months  in  Europe. 
Now,  here  she  is,  the  finished  product.  We've  been 
spending  twelve  years  getting  Barbara  ready  for  some 
thing,  and,  as  a  result,  she's  ready  for  nothing!  What 
does  she  know  of  the  world?  Absolutely  nothing! 
She's  never  for  one  instant  come  in  contact  with  any 
thing  real — she  can't.  She's  been  so  educated  that  she 
wouldn't  know  anything  real  if  she  saw  it !  Mind  you," 
said  Miss  Toland,  fixing  the  somewhat  bewildered  Julia 
with  a  stern  eye,  "mind  you,  I  admit  it's  hard  for  people 
of  income  to  bring  a  girl  up  sensibly.  'But,'  I've  said  to 
my  sister-in-law,  'hand  me  over  one  of  the  younger  girls 
—I'll  promise  you  that  she'll  grow  up  something  more 
than  a  poor  little  fashionably  dressed  doll,  looking  side- 
wise  out  of  her  eyes  at  every  man  she  meets,  to  see 
whether  he'll  marry  her  or  not !'  Of  course  there's  only 
one  answer  to  that.  I've  never  married,  and  I  don't 
know  anything  about  it!" 

"Miss  Toland  will  marry,"  Julia  submitted. 

"Perhaps  she  will,"  her  aunt  said.  "Perhaps,  again, 
she  won't.  But  at  all  events,  it's  a  rather  flat  business, 
all  this  rushing  about  to  dinners  and  dances;  it'll  last  a 
few  years  perhaps — then  what?  I  tell  you  what,  my 
dear,  there's  only  one  good  thing  in  this  world,  and 
that's  work — self-expression.  It  hurts  my  pride  every 
time  I  see  a  nice  girl  growing  older  year  after  year,  idle, 
expensive,  waiting  for  some  man  to  miraculous!}'  happen 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  127 

along  and  take  her  out  of  it.  I  tell  you  the  interesting 
lives  are  those  of  people  who  've  had  to  work  up  from  the 
bottom.  A  working  girl  may  have  her  troubles,  but 
they're  real.  Why,  let's  suppose  that  Barbara  marries, 
that  she  marries  the  man  her  mother  has  picked  out,  for 
example,  still  she  doesn't  get  away  from  the  tiring,  the 
sickening  conventions  that  all  her  set  has  laid  down  for 
her!  I  wish  I  had  my  own  girlhood  to  live  over — I  know 
that!"  finished  the  older  woman,  with  a  gloomy  nod. 

"Miss  Toland  seems  to  me  to  have  everything  in  the 
world,"  Julia  said,  in  childish  protest.  "She's — she's 
beautiful,  and  every  one  loves  her.  She's  always  been 
rich  enough  to  do  what  she  pleased,  and  go  places,  and 
wear  what  she  liked !  And — and  " — Julia's  eyes  watered 
suddenly — "and  she's  a  lady,"  she  added  unsteadily. 
She's  always  been  told  how  to  do  things,  she's — she's 
different  from — from  girls  who  have  had  no  chances, 
who " 

Her  voice  thickened,  speech  became  too  difficult,  and 
she  stopped,  looking  down  at  her  teacup  through  a 
blur  of  tears.  Miss  Toland  watched  her  for  a  silent 
moment  or  two;  despite  all  her  oddities,  no  woman  who 
ever  lived  had  a  kinder  heart  or  a  keener  insight  than 
Anna  Toland.  It  was  in  a  very  winning  tone  that  she 
presently  said: 

"Tell  me  a  little  something  about  yourself,  Miss 
Page!" 

"Oh,  there's  nothing  interesting  about  me!"  Julia 
said,  ashamed  of  showing  emotion.  She  jumped  up, 
and  began  to  put  the  kitchen  in  order.  But  the  recital 
came,  nevertheless,  beginning  with  Chester,  and  ending 
with  Julia's  earliest  memories  of  the  O'Farrell  Street 
house.  The  girl  tumbled  it  out  regardless  of  sequence, 
and  revealing  far  more  than  she  knew.  Julia  told  of  the 
episodeof  Carter  Hazzard;  she  repeated  the  conversation 
she  had  overheard  at  the  club. 

Miss  Toland  did  not  once  interrupt  her;  she  listened 
in  an  appreciative  silence.  They  washed  and  put  away 
the  dishes,  straightened  the  kitchen,  and  finally  found 


128  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

themselves  standing  in  the  reception  room,  Julia  still 
talking. 

.so  you  see  why  it  sounds  so  funny  to  me, 
your  talking  about  your  niece,"  Julia  said.  "Because 
she — she  seems  to  me  such  miles  ahead — she  seems  to 
have  everything  I  would  like  to  have!"  She  paused, 
and  then  said  awkwardly:  "I'll  never  be  a  lady,  I  know 
that.  I — I  wish  I  had  a  chance  to  be!" 

And  she  sat  down  at  the  little  Mission  table,  and  flung 
her  arms  out  before  her,  her  face  tired  and  wretched, 
her  blue  eyes  dark  with  pain.  Miss  Toland's  face,  from 
showing  mere  indulgent  interest,  took  on  a  sharper  look. 
She  was  a  quick-witted  woman,  and  this  chanced  to 
touch  her  in  a  sensitive  spot. 

"As  for  a  lady,  ladies  are  made  and  not  born,"  she 
said  decidedly.  "Don't  ever  let  them  fool  you.  Bar 
bara  may  run  around  until  she's  tired  talking  about 
belonging  to  the  Daughters  of  Southern  Officers;  she  can 
stick  a  sampler  up  here,  and  lend  a  Copley  portrait  to  a 
loan  exhibition  now  and  then;  but  you  mark  my  words, 
Barbara  had  to  learn  things  like  any  other  girl.  One 
sensible  mother  in  this  world  is  worth  sixteen  dis 
tinguished  great-grandmothers ! " 

Julia  said  nothing;  she  began  to  think  it  was  time  for 
her  to  go.  But  Miss  Toland  was  well  launched  in  a 
favourite  argument. 

"Why,  look  here,"  said  the  older  woman,  who  was 
enjoying  herself,  "you're  young,  you're  pretty,  you're 
naturally  inclined  to  choose  what  is  nice,  what  is  refined. 
You  say  you're  not  a  lady — how  do  you  know?  You 
may  take  my  word  for  it — Julia,  your  name  is  ? — Julia, 
then,  that  if  you  make  up  your  mind  to  be  one,  nothing 
can  stop  you.  Now  I've  been  thinking  while  we  talked. 
Why  couldn't  you  come  here  and  try  this  sort  of  thing? 
You  could  keep  things  running  smoothly  here;  you  could 
work  into  the  girls'  clubs,  perhaps;  no  harm  to  try,  any 
way.  Do  you  sing?" 

Julia  had  to  clear  her  throat  before  she  could  say 
huskily: 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  129 

"I  can  play  the  piano  a  little." 

"You  see — you  play.  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it, 
then?" 

"Live  here?"  stammered  Julia. 

"Certainly,  live  right  here.  I  want  some  one  right 
here  with  me.  You  can  arrange  your  own  work,  you  can 
read  all  the  books  you  want,  you'll  come  in  contact  with 
nice  people.  Fm  afraid  to  be  here  alone  at  night  very 
much,  and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we'll  never 
accomplish  anything  until  I  can  stay,  day  out  and  in. 
Why  don't  you  try  it,  anyway  ?  Telephone  your  grand 
mother — sleep  right  here  to-night!" 

Julia  struggled  for  absolute  control  of  her  facial  muscles. 

"Here?"  she  asked,  a  little  thickly. 

"Right  in  here — you  can  but  try  it!"  Miss  Toland 
urged,  throwing  open  the  door  of  the  immaculate,  un 
used  bedroom.  Julia  looked  again  at  the  fresh  white 
bed,  the  rug,  the  bureau.  Her  own — her  own  domain! 
Just  what  entering  it  meant  to  her  she  never  tried  to  say, 
but  the  moment  was  a  memorable  one  in  her  life.  She 
presently  found  herself  telephoning  a  message  to  the 
drug  store  that  was  nearest  her  grandmother's  home. 
She  selected  a  flannelette  nightgown  from  a  deep 
drawer  marked:  "Nightgowns  and  petticoats — • 
Women's."  She  assured  Miss  Toland  that  she  could 
buy  a  toothbrush  the  next  day,  and  when  the  older 
woman  asked  her  how  she  liked  her  bath  in  the  morning, 
Julia  said  very  staidly:  "Warm,  thank  you." 

"Warm?  Well,  so  do  I,"  said  Miss  Toland's  approv 
ing  voice  from  the  next  room.  "This  business  of  ice- 
cold  baths !  Fad.  There's  a  gas  heater  in  the  kitchen." 

Julia,  laying  her  underwear  neatly  over  a  chair,  was 
struck  by  the  enormity  of  the  task  she  had  undertaken. 
A  great  blight  of  utter  discouragement  swept  over  her— 
she  never  could  do  it !  Her  mother — all  her  kin — seemed 
to  take  shadowy  shape  to  menace  this  little  haven 
she  had  found.  Chester — suppose  he  should  find  her! 
Suppose  Mark  should!  Sooner  or  later  some  one  must 
discover  where  she  was. 


130  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

And  clothes!  These  clothes  would  not  do!  She  had 
no  money;  she  must  borrow  And  how  was  she  to  help 
in  sewing  classes  and  cooking  classes,  knowing  only 
what  she  knew? 

".  .  .  .  said  to  her  as  nicely  as  I  could,  but 
firmly,"  Miss  Toland  was  saying,  above  the  rasp  of  a 
running  faucet  in  the  bathroom,  "'Well,  my  dear  Miss 
Hewitt,  you  may  be  a  trained  worker  and  I'm  not,  but 
you  can't  expect  your  theories  to  work  under  condi- 
tions- 

"What  a  bluffer  I  am,"  thought  Julia,  getting  into 
bed.  She  snapped  her  light  off,  but  Miss  Toland  turned 
it  on  again  when  she  came  to  the  door  to  look  at  Julia 
with  great  satisfaction. 

"Comfortable,  my  dear?" 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  you." 

"Have  you  forgotten  to  open  your  window?" 

Julia  raised  herself  on  an  elbow. 

"Well,  I  believe  I  have,"  said  she. 

Miss  Toland  flung  it  up. 

"We're  as  safe  as  a  church  here,"  she  said,  after  a  mo 
ment's  study  of  the  street.  "Sometimes  the  Italians 
opposite  get  noisy,  but  they're  harmless.  Well,  I'm 
going  to  read — you'll  see  my  light.  Sleep  tight!"  . 

"Thank  you,"  said  Julia. 

Miss  Toland  went  back  to  her  room,  and  Julia,  wide 
awake,  lay  staring  at  her  own  room's  pure  bare  walls, 
the  triangle  of  light  that  fell  in  the  little  passageway 
from  Miss  Toland's  reading  lamp,  and  the  lights  in  the 
street  outside.  Now  and  then  a  passing  car  sent  lights 
wheeling  across  her  ceiling  like  the  flanges  of  a  fan;  now 
and  then  a  couple  of  men  passing  just  under  her  window 
roused  her  with  their  deep  voices,  or  a  tired  child's  voice 
rose  up  above  the  patter  of  footsteps  like  a  bird's  pipe 
in  the  night.  Cats  squalled  and  snarled,  and  fled  up  the 
street;  a  soprano  voice  floated  out  on  the  night  air: 

"But  the  waves  still  are  singing  to  the  shore 
As  they  sang  in  the  happy  days  of  yore " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  131 

To  these  and  a  thousand  less  sharply  defined  noises, 
to  the  constant,  steady  flicking  of  stiff  pages  in  Miss 
Toland's  room,  Julia  fell  asleep. 

Miss  Toland  told  her  family  of  the  arrangement  some 
three  months  later.  She  met  her  sister-in-law  and  old 
est  niece  downtown  for  luncheon  one  day  in  November, 
and  when  the  ladies  had  ordered  their  luncheon  and 
piled  superfluous  wraps  and  parcels  upon  a  fourth  chair, 
Barbara,  staring  about  the  Palm  Room,  and  resting  her 
chin  on  one  slender  wrist,  asked  indifferently: 

"And  how's  The  Alexander,  Aunt  Sanna?" 

"Why  don't  you  come  and  see?"  asked  her  aunt 
briskly.  "You've  all  deserted  me,  and  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  on  speaking  terms  with  you  or  not!  We're 
getting  on  splendidly.  Nineteen  girls  in  our  Tuesday 
evening  club;  mothers'  meetings  a  great  success.  I've 
captured  a  rare  little  personality  in  Julia." 

She  enlarged  upon  the  theme:  Julia's  industry,  her 
simplicity,  her  natural  sympathy  with  and  comprehen 
sion  of  the  class  from  which  the  frequenters  of  The 
Alexander  were  drawn.  Mrs.  Toland  listened  smilingly, 
her  bright  eyes  roving  the  room  constantly.  Barbara 
did  not  listen  at  all;  she  studied  the  scene  about  her 
sombrely,  with  heavy-lidded  eyes. 

Barbara  was  at  an  age  when  exactly  those  things  that 
a  certain  small  group  of  her  contemporaries  did,  said,  and 
thought,  made  all  her  world.  She  wished  to  be  with  these 
young  people  all  the  time;  she  wished  for  nothing  else. 
To-day  she  was  heartsick  because  there  was  to  be  a  week 
end  house  party  to  which  she  was  not  invited.  A  personal 
summons  from  the  greatest  queen  of  Europe  would  have 
meant  nothing  to  Barbara  to-day,  except  for  its  effect 
upon  the  little  circle  she  desired  so  eagerly  to  impress. 
Parents,  sisters,  and  brothers,  nature,  science,  and  art, 
were  but  pale  shapes  about  her.  The  burning  fact  was 
that  Elinor  Sparrow  had  asked  the  others  down  for 
tennis  Saturday  and  to  stay  overnight,  and  had  asked 
her,  Barbara,  to  join  them  on  Sunday  for  luncheon 


132  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Tell  Aunt  Sanna  about  the  wedding,  dear!"  com 
manded  Mrs.  Toland  suddenly.  Barbara  smiled  with 
mechanical  brightness. 

"Oh,  it  was  lovely!  Every  one  was  there.  Georgie 
looked  stunning — ever  so  much  prettier  than  Hazel!" 
she  said,  rather  lifelessly. 

:<Tell  Aunt  Sanna  who  got  the  bride's  bouquet!" 

"Oh,"  Barbara  again  assumed  an  expression  of  ani 
mation.  "Oh,  I  did." 

"Jim  go?" 

"Oh,  yes,  he  went  with  the  Russells.  Thar*s  getting 
to  be  quite  a  case,  you  know,"  Barbara  said  airily. 

"I  thought  that  was  Elinor  Sparrow  and  her  mother," 
Mrs.  Toland  said,  bowing  to  two  ladies  who  were  now  at 
some  distance,  and  were  leaving  the  room.  "They 
were  at  that  table,  but  I  couldn't  be  sure  who  they 
were  until  they  got  up." 

"Was  Elinor  right  there?"  Barbara  asked  quickly. 

"Why,  yes;  but  as  I  say " 

Barbara  pushed  back  her  broiled  bird  with  a  gesture 
of  utter  exasperation. 

"I  think  you  might  have  said  something  about  it, 
Mother,"  she  said,  angry  and  disappointed. 

"Why,  my  darling,"  Mrs.  Toland  began,  fluttered, 
"how  could  I  dream — besides,  as  I  say,  I  couldn't 
see " 

"You  knew  how  I  felt  about  Saturday,"  Barbara 
said  bitterly,  "and  you  let  them  sit  there  an  hour!  I 
could  have  turned  around — I  could  have " 

"Listen  to  Mother,  dear.     You " 

"And  I  can't  understand  why  you  wouldn't  naturally 
mention  it,"  Barbara  interrupted,  in  a  high,  critical  voice. 
Tears  trembled  into  her  eyes.  "I  would  have  given  a 
great  deal  to  have  seen  Elinor  to-day,"  she  said  stiffly. 

Mrs.  Toland,  smitten  dumb  with  penitence,  could  only 
eye  her  with  sympathy  and  distress. 

"Listen,  dear,"  she  suggested  eagerly,  after  a  moment. 
"Suppose  you  run  out  and  see  Elinor  in  the  cloakroom? 
Mother's  so  sorry  she " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  133 

"No,  I  couldn't  do  that,"  Barbara  answered  moodily. 
It  would  have  been  all  right  to  have  it  just  seem  to 

happen No,  it  doesn't  make  any  difference, 

Mother.  Please — please — don't  bother  about  it." 

"I'm  sure  Elinor  didn't  see  you,"  Mrs.  Toland  con 
tinued.  Barbara,  throwing  her  a  glance  of  utter  weari 
ness,  begged  politely: 

'Please  don't  bother  about  it,  Mother.  Please.  I'd 
rather  not." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Toland  conceded,  with  dissatisfaction. 
An  uncomfortable  silence  reigned,  until  Miss  Toland 
began  suddenly  to  talk  of  Julia. 

"She's  a  very  unusual  girl,"  said  she.  "She's  utterly 
and  entirely  satisfactory  to  me." 

"I  think  you're  very  fortunate,  Sanna,"  Mrs.  Toland 
commented  absently.  She  speculated  a  little  as  to 
Julia;  there  really  must  be  something  unusual  about  the 
girl;  Sanna  was  notoriously  difficult  to  live  with. 

"She's  not  stiff — she's  amenable  to  reason,"  Miss 
Toland  said,  smiling  vaguely.  "We — we  have  really 
good  times  together." 

"I  hope  she's  improved  in  appearance,"  Mrs.  Toland 
remarked  severely.  "You  remember  how  dreadfully 
she  looked,  Barbara?" 

Barbara  smiled,  half  lifted  dubious  brows,  and 
shrugged  slightly. 

"She's  enormously  improved,"  Miss  Toland  said 
sharply.  "She  wears  an  extremely  becoming  uniform 


now." 


"She's  evidently  got  your  number,  Auntie,"  Barbara 
said,  watching  three  young  men  who  were  entering  the 
room.  "She  evidently  knows  that  you're  nutty  about 
appearances!" 

"I  am  not  nutty  about  appearances  at  all,"  her  aunt 
responded,  as  she  attacked  an  elaborate  ice.  "I  like 
things  done  decently,  and  I  like  to  see  Julia  in  her  nice, 
trim  dresses.  That  Eastern  woman  I  tried,  Miss  Knox, 
wouldn't  hear  of  wearing  a  uniform — not  she!  Julia 
has  more  sense." 


134  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"I  expect  that  Julia  hasn't  an  idea  in  her  head  that 
you  haven't  put  there,"  Barbara  said  dryly. 

"Don't  you  believe  it!"  her  aunt  said  with  fire.  She 
seemed  ready  for  further  speech,  but  interrupted  herself, 
and  was  contented  with  a  mere  repetition  of  her  first 
words,  "Don't  you  believe  it." 

"Your  geese  are  all  swans,  Sanna,"  Mrs.  Toland  said, 
with  a  tolerant  smile. 

"Very  likely,"  Miss  Toland  said  briefly,  drinking  off 
her  black  coffee  at  a  draught.  "Now,"  she  went  on 
briskly,  "where  are  you  good  people  going?  Julia's  to 
meet  me  here  in  the  Turkish  Room  at  two;  we  have  to 
pick  out  a  hundred  books,  to  start  our  library." 

"It's  after  that  now,"  Barbara  said.  "She's  prob 
ably  waiting.  Let's  go  out  that  way,  Mother,  and  walk 
over  to  Sutter?" 

They  sauntered  along  the  wide  passage  to  the  Turk 
ish  Room,  and  just  before  they  reached  it  a  young 
woman  came  toward  them,  a  slender,  erect  person,  under 
whose  neatly  buttoned  long  coat  showed  the  crisp  hem 
of  a  blue  linen  dress.  Julia  bowed  briefly  to  the  mother 
and  daughter,  but  her  eyes  were  only  for  Miss  Toland. 
She  was  nervous  and  constrained;  bright  colour  had 
come  into  her  cheeks;  she  could  not  speak.  But  Bar 
bara  merely  thought  that  the  cheap  little  common 
actress  had  miraculously  improved  in  appearance 
and  manner,  and  noted  the  blue,  blue  eyes,  and  the 
glittering  sweep  of  hair  under  Julia's  neat  hat,  and  Miss 
Toland  felt  herself  curiously  touched  by  the  appealing 
look  that  Julia  gave  her. 

"Now  for  the  books,  Julia,"  said  she,  beaming  ap 
proval.  The  two  went  off  together,  chattering  like 
friends  and  equals. 

"What  does  Aunt  Sanna  see  in  her?"  marvelled  Bar 
bara,  watching. 

"Your  aunt  is  peculiar,"  Mrs.  Toland  said,  with 
vague  disapproval,  compressing  her  lips. 

"Well,  the  way  she  runs  The  Alexander  is  curious,  to 
say  the  least,"  Barbara  commented  vigorously.  "I 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  135 

:ouldn't  stay  out  there  one  week,  myself,  and  have  Aunt 
Sanna  carrying  on  the  way  she  does,  planning  a  thing, 
and  forgetting  it  in  two  seconds,  and  yelling  at  the 
zhildren  one  day,  and  treating  them  to  ice-cream  the 
next!  Why,  the  last  time  I  went  out  there  Aunt 
Sanna  was  in  bed,  at  eleven  o'clock,  because  she  felt 
ike  reading,  and  she'd  called  off  the  housekeeping 
class  for  no  reason  at  all  except  that  she  didn't  feel 
ike  it!" 

"Yes,  I  know,  I  know,"  Mrs.  Toland  said,  picking  her 
way  daintily  across  Market  Street.  "But  she  has  her 
own  money,  and  I  suppose  she'll  go  her  own  gait!" 
3ut  she  looked  a  little  uneasy,  and  was  silent  for  some 
moments,  busy  with  her  own  thoughts. 

Long  before  this  Julia's  whereabouts  had  been  dis 
covered  by  her  own  family,  and  by  at  least  one  of  her 
riends,  Mark  Rosenthal.  Mark  walked  in  upon  her 

e  Sunday  afternoon,  when  she  had  been  about  a 
month  at  The  Alexander.  Miss  Toland  had  gone  for  a 
ew  hours  to  Sausalito,  and  Julia  was  alone,  and  had 
some  leisure.  She  put  on  her  hat,  and  she  and  Mark 
walked  through  the  noisy  Sunday  streets;  everybody 
was  out  in  the  sunshine,  and  saloons  everywhere  were 
doing  a  steady  business. 

"Evelyn  told  me  where  you  were,"  Mark  explained, 
fulia  made  a  little  grimace  of  disapproval,  and  the  man, 
watching  her,  winced. 

"Are  you  so  sorry  to  have  me  know?"  he  asked,  a 
sword  in  his  heart. 

"Oh,  it's  not  that,  Mark!  But" — Julia  stammered 
— "but  I  only  went  home  to  see  grandma  Thurs 
day,  and  it  struck  me  that  Evelyn  hadn't  lost  much 
time!" 

"Wouldn't  you  ever  have  written  me?"  Mark  asked, 
his  dark  eyes  caressing  her. 

"Oh,  of  course  I  would.  Only  I  wanted  to  get  a  start 
first.  Why  do  you  laugh?"  Julia  broke  off  to  ask 
offendedly. 


136  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Just  because  I  love  you  so,  darling.  Just  because 
I've  been  hungry  for  you  all  these  weeks — and  it's  just 
ecstasy  to  be  here!"  Mark's  eyes  were  moist  now, 
though  he  was  still  smiling.  "You  don't  know  it,  but 
I  just  live  to  see  you,  Julie.  I  can't  think  of  anything 
else.  This — this  new  job  isn't  going  to  make  any  dif 
ference  about  our  marrying,  is  it,  darling?" 

Julia  surveyed  a  stretch  of  dirty  street  lined  with 
dirty  yet  somewhat  pretentious  houses.  Women  sat  on 
drifts  of  newspapers  on  the  steps,  white-stockinged 
children  quarrelled  in  the  hot,  dingy  dooryards. 

"I  wish  you  didn't  care  that  way,  Mark,"  she  said, 
uncomfortably. 

"Why,  dearest?"  he  said  eagerly.  "Because  I  care 
more  for  you  than  you  do  for  me?  I  know  that,  Julie." 
He  watched  the  cool  little  cheek  nearest  him.  "But 
wait  until  we're  married,  Julie,  you'll  love  me  then;  I'll 
make  you!" 

But  all  his  young  fire  could  not  touch  her.  He  could 
only  win  an  occasional  troubled  glance. 

"I  want  to  stay  here  a  long,  long  time,  you  know, 
Mark — if  I  can.  I  want  to  read  things  and  study  things. 
I  want  to  be  let  alone.  It'll  be  years  before  I  want  to 
marry!"  Julia  raised  her  anxious,  harassed  eyes  to  his. 
"I  don't  really  think  of  men  or  of  marriage  at  all,"  said 
she. 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  darling,"  Mark  said,  smiling 
down  at  her,  a  little  touched.  "I'm  going  to  be  sent  up 
to  Sacramento  for  a  while;  I'll  not  worry  you.  But  see 
here,  if  I  go  back  to  the  house  with  you  again,  do  I  get  a 
kiss?" 

Julia  gave  him  a  grave  smile,  and  let  him  follow  her 
into  the  settlement  house.  But  Mark  did  not  get  his 
kiss,  for  Miss  Toland  was  there,  and  a  group  of  eager 
club  girls  who  had  something  to  arrange  for  a  meeting 
the  following  night.  Mark  left  the  lady  of  his  delight 
staidly  discussing  the  relative  merits  of  lemonade  and 
gingersnaps  and  two  pounds  of  "broken  mixed"  candy, 
as  evening  refreshments,  and  carried  away  a  troubled 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  137 

heart.  He  wrote  Julia,  at  least  twice  a  week,  shyly 
affectionate  and  honestly  egotistical  letters,  but  it  was 
some  months  before  he  saw  her  again. 

Julia's  visit  to  her  grandparents,  through  which 
Mark  had  been  able  to  trace  her,  had  taken  place 
some  days  before,  on  a  certain  Wednesday  afternoon. 
Suddenly,  after  the  daily  three  o'clock  sewing  class  had 
had  its  meeting  in  the  big  hall,  the  thought  had  come  to 
her  that  she  must  see  her  own  people.  It  was  a  still 
autumn  afternoon,  a  little  chilly,  and  Julia,  setting  forth, 
felt  small  relish  for  her  errand. 

Her  grandmother's  house  presented  a  dingy,  dis 
couraging  front.  Julia  twisted  the  familiar  old  bell,  and 
got  the  familiar  old  odours  of  carbolic  acid  and  boiling 
onions,  superimposed  upon  a  basis  of  thick,  heavy,  stale 
air.  But  the  hour  she  spent  in  the  dirty  kitchen  was 
nevertheless  not  an  unpleasant  one.  Her  grandmother 
was  all  alone,  and  was  too  used  to  similar  vagaries  on  the 
part  of  all  her  family  to  resent  Julia's  disappearance  and 
long  silence. 

"We  had  your  postal,"  she  admitted,  in  answer  to  her 
granddaughter's  embarrassed  query.  "You  look  thin, 
me  dear;  you've  not  got  your  old  bold,  stylish  look  about 
you." 

And  she  wrinkled  her  old  face  and  studied  Julia  with 
blinking  eyes.  "The  girls  was  glad  enough  to  use  your 
dresses.  Marguerite  looked  real  nice  in  the  one  she 
took.  Your  Mama  wrote  in  to  know  what  kind  of  a 

job  you  had Sit  down,  Julia,"  she  said  as  she 

poked  about  the  stove  with  a  lid  lifter. 

Julia,  who  had  drawn  a  long  breath  to  recount  her 
experiences,  suddenly  expelled  it.  It  occurred  to  her, 
with  a  great  relief,  that  her  grandmother  was  not 
interested  in  details.  Her  hard  life  had  left  her  no 
curiosity;  she  was  only  mildly  satisfied  at  finding  her 
granddaughter  apparently  prosperous  and  well;  Mrs. 
Cox  was  never  driven  to  the  necessity  of  borrowing 
trouble. 


138  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Julia  learned  that  her  own  father  and  mother  were  in 
Los  Angeles,  where  George  was  looking  for  employment. 
Evelyn  had  developed  a  sudden  ambition  to  be  a  dress 
maker,  Marguerite  had  a  new  admirer.  Pa,  Mrs.  Cox 
said,  was  awful  cross  and  cranky.  Julia,  with  a  pre 
monition  of  trouble,  asked  for  Chester. 

"He's  fine;  he's  the  only  one  Pa'll  speak  to,"  her 
grandmother  said,  unexpectedly. 

|'Oh,"  said  Julia  eagerly,  "he's  here?" 

"Sure,  he  come  back,"  Mrs.  Cox  assured  her  in- 
differently.  "He's  got  good  work." 

Walking  home  in  the  early  darkness,  Julia  could  have 
danced  for  very  lightness  of  heart.  She  had  dreaded  the 
call,  dreaded  their  jealousy  of  her  new  chance,  dreaded 
the  possibility  of  their  wishing  to  share  the  joys  of  The 
Alexander  with  her.  She  found  them  instead  entirely 
uninterested  in  her  problems,  and  entirely  absorbed  in 
themselves.  Marguerite  remarked  that  she  did  not  see 
why  Julia  "let  them  make"  her  wear  the  plain  linen 
uniform  of  which  Julia  was  secretly  so  proud.  Evelyn 
was  fretting  because  dressmakers'  apprentices  could 
depend  upon  such  very  poor  pay,  and  vouchsafed  Julia  a 
moment's  attention  only  when  Julia  observed  that  the 
Tolands  patronized  a  very  fashionable  dressmaker,  and 
might  say  a  good  word  to  her  for  Evelyn.  This  excited 
Evelyn  very  much,  and  she  suggested  that  perhaps  she 
herself  had  better  see  Miss  Toland. 

"No— no!     I'll  do  it,"  Julia  said  hastily. 

Mrs.  Cox,  upon  her  departure,  extended  her  grand 
daughter  a  warm  invitation. 

"If  they  don't  treat  you  good,  dearie,  you  come  right 
back  here  and  Grandma'll  take  good  care  of  you,"  said 
she,  and  Evelyn  and  Marguerite,  eying  Julia  over  their 
cups  of  tea,  nodded  half  pityingly.  They  thought  it  a 
very  poor  job  that  did  not  permit  one  to  come  home  to 
this  kitchen  at  night,  even  less  desirable  than  their  own 
despised  employments.  Julia's  being  kept  at  night  only 
added  one  more  item  to  the  long  total  that  made  the 
helplessness  of  the  poor.  It  was  as  if  Julia,  dancing 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  139 

3ack  to  The  Alexander  in  the  early  darkness,  hugged  to 
ler  heart  the  assurance  that  these  kinswomen  were  as 
contentedly  independent  of  her  as  she  of  them. 

These  experiences  belonged  to  early  days  at  The 
Alexander.  There  were  other  experiences,  hours  of 
cold  discouragement  and  doubt,  hours  of  bitter  self-dis- 
:rust.  Julia  trembled  over  mistakes,  and  made  a 
lundred  mistakes  of  which  she  never  knew.  But  by 
some  miracle,  she  never  chanced  to  offend  her  erratic 
superior.  To  Miss  Toland  there  was  small  significance 
n  the  fact  of  an  ill-cut  pattern  or  a  lost  key.  At  the 
mothers'  meetings,  when  Julia  was  dismally  smitten 
with  a  sense  of  her  own  uselessness,  Miss  Toland  thought 
ler  shy  little  attempts  at  friendliness  very  charming, 
and  when  she  casually  corrected  the  faults  of  Julia's 
speech,  she  gave  no  further  thought  to  the  matter,  al- 
:hough  Julia  turned  hot  and  cold  at  the  recollection  for 
many  a  day  to  come. 

Julia  never  made  any  objection,  never  hinted  by  so 
much  as  a  reproachful  eyelid,  that  Miss  Toland's  way 
of  doing  things  was  not  that  usually  adopted.  Julia 
would  show  her  delight  when  a  shopping  tour  and  a 
unch  downtown  were  substituted  for  a  sewing  lesson; 
she  docilely  pushed  back  her  boiling  potatoes  and  beef 
stew  when  Miss  Toland  was  for  delaying  supper  while 
:hey  went  out  to  buy  a  waffle  iron,  and  made  some  ex 
periments  with  batter.  On  three  or  four  mornings  each 
week  there  were  no  classes,  and  on  these  mornings  the 
two  loitered  along  over  their  coffee  and  toast,  Miss 
Toland  talking,  Julia  a  passionately  interested  listener. 
Perhaps  the  older  woman  would  read  some  passage  from 
Meredith  or  de  Balzac,  after  which  Julia  dipped  into 
Meredith  for  herself,  but  found  him  slow,  and  plunged 
3ack  into  Dickens  and  Thackeray.  It  amused  Miss 
Toland  to  watch  her  read,  to  have  Julia  burst  out,  with 
laming  cheeks: 

"Oh,  I  hope  Charles  Darney  won't  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
go  to  Paris  now — oh,  does  he?"  or: 


140  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"You  wouldn't  catch  me  marrying  George  Osborne — 
a  spoiled,  selfish  pig,  that's  what  he  is!" 

So  the  months  went  by,  and  the  day  came  when  Julia, 
standing  shyly  beside  Miss  Toland,  said  smilingly: 

"Do  you  know  what  day  this  is,  Miss  Toland?" 

"To-day?"  Miss  Toland  said  briskly.  "No,  I  don't. 
Why?" 

"I've  been  here  a  year  to-day,"  Julia  said,  dimpling. 

uYou  have?"  Miss  Toland,  handling  bolts  of  pink- 
and-white  gingham  at  a  long  table,  straightened  up  to 
survey  her  demure  little  assistant.  "Well,  now  I'll  tell 
you  what  we'll  do  to  celebrate,"  she  said,  after  a  thought 
ful  interval.  "I  understand  that  the  Sisters  over  on 
Lake  Merritt  have  a  very  remarkable  sewing  school. 
Now,  we  ought  to  see  that,  Julia,  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"We  might  get  some  ideas,"  Julia  agreed. 

"Precisely.  So  you  put  the  card — 'No  Classes  To 
day' — on  the  door,  and  we'll  go.  And  put  your  milk 
bottle  out,  because  we  may  be  late.  I  hate  to  do  it,  but 
I  really  think  we  should  know  what  they're  doing  over 
there." 

"I  do,  too,"  Julia  said.  This  form  preceded  most  of 
their  excursions.  A  few  moments  later  they  were  out  in 
the  open  air,  with  the  long  sunny  day  before  them. 

The  months  sped  on  their  way  again,  and  Julia  had 
been  in  the  settlement  two  years — three  years.  She 
was  eighteen,  and  the  world  did  not  stand  still.  She 
was  nineteen — twenty.  She  changed  by  slow  degrees 
from  the  frightened  little  rabbit  that  had  fled  to  Miss 
Toland  for  refuge  to  an  observant,  dignified  young  wo 
man  who  was  quietly  sure  of  herself  and  her  work.  The 
rumpled  ashen  glory  that  had  been  her  hair  was  trans 
formed  into  the  soft  thick  braids  that  now  marked  Miss 
Page's  head  apart  from  those  of  the  other  girls  of  her 
day.  The  round  arms  were  guiltless  of  bracelets;  Julia 
wore  her  severe  blue  uniform,  untouched  by  any  orna- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  141 

ment;  her  stockings  and  shoes  were  as  plain  as  money 
could  buy. 

Her  beauty,  somewhat  in  eclipse  for  a  time,  presently 
shone  out  again.  But  there  were  few  to  see  it.  Miss 
Watts,  the  simple,  sweet,  middle-aged  teacher  of  the 
kindergarten,  admired  it  wistfully,  and  Miss  Toland 
watched  it  with  secret  pride.  But  the  society  girls  and 
young  matrons  who  flitted  in  once  or  twice  a  week  to 
teach  their  classes  never  saw  it  at  all,  or,  seeing  it, 
merely  told  each  other  that  little  Miss  Page  would  be 
awfully  pretty  in  decent  things,  and  the  women  and 
girls  and  children  who  formed  the  classes  at  The  Alex 
ander  never  saw  her  at  all.  The  women  were  too  much 
absorbed  in  their  own  affairs,  children  are  proverbially 
blind  to  beauty,  and  the  girls  who  came  to  the  monthly 
dances,  the  evening  sewing  classes  and  reading  clubs, 
thought  their  sober  little  guardian  rather  plain,  as 
indeed  she  was,  when  judged  by  their  standard  of  dress, 
Itheir  ruffled  lace  collars  and  high-heeled  shoes,  their 
|curls  and  combs  and  coloured  glass  jewellery. 

Julia's  amazing  detachment  from  the  ordinary  ideals 
|of  girlhood  was  an  unending  surprise  to  Miss  Toland. 

"She  has  simply  and  quietly  set  that  astonishing  little 
Imind  of  hers  upon  making  herself  a  lady,"  Miss  Toland 
jsaid  now  and  then  to  her  sister-in-law.     Mrs.  Toland 
rould  answer  with  only  an  abstracted  smile.     If  she 
lad  any  convictions  at  all  in  her  genial  view  of  life,  she 
irtainly  believed  a  lady  to  be  a  thing  born,  not  made. 
iut  she  was  not  concerned  about  Julia;  she  hardly 
•ealized  the  girl's  existence. 

Miss  Toland,  however,  was  keenly  concerned  about 
[ulia.  Julia  had  come  to  be  the  absorbing  interest  of 
ler  life.  It  was  quite  natural  that  Julia  should  love  her, 
ret  to  the  older  woman  it  always  seemed  a  miracle, 
:remule\isly  dear.  That  any  one  so  young,  so  lovely,  so 
irdent  as  Julia  should  depend  so  utterly  upon  her  was  to 
inna  Toland  an  unceasing  delight.  Julia  had  been 
Bewildered  and  heartsick  when  she  turned  to  The 


142  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Alexander,  but  she  had  never  in  her  life  known  such  an 
aching  loneliness  as  had  been  Miss  Toland's  fate  for 
many  years.  To  such  a  nature  the  solitary  years  in 
Paris,  the  solitary  return  to  California,  the  tentative  and 
unencouraged  approaches  to  her  nieces,  all  made  a  dark 
memory.  Rich  as  she  was,  independent  and  popular  as 
she  was,  Miss  Toland's  life  had  brought  her  nothing  so 
sweet  as  this  young  thing,  to  teach,  to  dominate,  to 
correct,  and  to  watch  and  delight  in,  too.  As  Julia's 
grammar  and  manner  and  appearance  rapidly  im 
proved,  MissToland  began  to  exploit  her,  in  a  quiet  way, 
and  quietly  gloried  in  the  girl's  almost  stern  dignity. 
When  the  members  of  the  board  of  directors  were 
buzzing  about,  Julia,  with  her  neatly  written  report, 
was  a  little  study  in  alert  and  silent  efficiency. 

"She's  a  cute  little  thing,"  said  Mrs.  von  Hoffmann, 
president  of  The  Alexander  Toland  Neighbourhood 
House,  after  one  of  these  meetings  of  the  board,  "but 
she  never  has  much  to  say." 

"No,  she's  a  very  silent  girl,"  Miss  Toland  agreed, 
with  that  little  warmth  at  her  heart  the  thought  of  Julia 
always  brought. 

"You  imported  her,  Sanna?" 

"Oh,  no.     She's  a  Californian." 

"  Really  ?     And  what  do  we  pay  her  ? " 

"Forty." 

"Forty?  And  didn't  we  pay  that  awful  last  creature 
sixty-five  ? " 

"Seventy-five — yes."  Miss  Toland  smiled  wisely. 
"But  she  had  been  specially  trained,  Tillie." 

"Oh,  specially  trained!"  Mrs.  von  Hoffmann,  fling 
ing  a  mass  of  rich  sables  about  her  throat,  began  to 
work  on  the  fingers  of  her  white  gloves.  "This  girl's 
worth  two  of  her,"  she  asserted,  "with  her  nice  little 
silent  ways  and  her  little  uniform!" 

"I'll  see  that  she's  treated  fairly,"  Miss  Toland  prom 
ised. 

"Well,  do!  Don't  lose  her,  whatever  you  do!  I 
suppose  she  has  beaus?" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  143 

"  Not  Julia !  She's  entirely  above  the  other  sex.  No ; 
there's  a  young  Jew  in  Sacramento  who  writes  her  now 
and  then,  but  that's  a  mere  boy-and-girl  memory." 

"Well,  let's  hope  it  remains  one!"  And  the  great 
lady,  sailing  out  to  her  waiting  coupe,  stopped  on  the 
outer  steps  to  speak  to  Miss  Page,  who  was  tying  up 
some  rain-beaten  chrysanthemums  in  the  little  front 
garden. 

"How  crushed  they  are!  Do  you  like  flowers,  Miss 
Page?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  smiled  Julia,  looking  like  a  flower  herself 
in  the  clear  twilight. 

"You  must  come  and  see  Mr.  von  Hoffmann's  or 
chids  some  day,"  Mrs.  von  Hoffmann  volunteered. 
Julia  smiled  again,  but  did  not  speak.  The  older  wo 
man  glanced  up  and  down  the  desolate  street,  and 
shuddered.  "Dreadful  neighbourhood!"  she  said  with 
a  rueful  smile  and  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  climbing 
into  her  carriage,  she  was  gone.  Julia  looked  about  her, 
but  found  the  neighbourhood  only  interesting  and 
friendly,  as  usual,  and  so  returned  to  her  flowers. 

When  her  chrysanthemums  were  trim  and  secure 
once  more,  perhaps — if  this  were  one  of  the  club  even 
ings — she  put  on  her  long  coat,  and  the  hat  with  the 
velvet  rose,  and  went  upon  a  little  shopping  expedition, 
a  brown  twine  bag  dangling  from  one  of  her  ungloved 
arms.  The  bakery  was  always  bright  and  odorous, 
and  at  this  hour  filled  with  customers.  The  perspiring 
Swedish  proprietress  and  a  blond-haired  daughter  or 
two  would  be  handling  the  warm  loaves,  the  flat,  floury 
pies,  and  the  brown  cookies  as  fast  as  hands  could  move; 
the  cash  register  behind  the  counter  rang  and  rang,  the 
air  was  hot,  the  windows  obscured  with  steam.  Men 
were  among  the  customers,  but  the  Weber  girls  had  no 
time  to  flirt  now.  They  rustled  the  thin  large  sheets  of 
paper,  snapped  the  flimsy  pink  string,  lifted  a  desig 
nated  pie  out  of  the  window,  or  weighed  pound  cake  with 
serious  swiftness. 


144  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

From  the  bakery  Julia  crossed  an  indeterminate 
street  upon  which  shabby  scattered  houses  backed  or 
faced  with  utter  disregard  of  harmony,  and  entered  a 
dark  and  disorderly  grocery,  which  smelled  of  beer  and 
brooms  and  soap  and  stale  cakes.  Tired  women, 
wrapped  in  shawls,  their  money  held  tight  in  bony,  bare 
hands,  sat  about  on  cracker  boxes  and  cheese  crates, 
awaiting  their  turn  to  be  served.  A  lamp,  with  a  re 
flector,  gave  the  only  light.  The  two  clerks,  red-faced 
young  men  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  leaned  on  the  dark 
counter  as  they  took  orders,  listening  with  impatient 
good  nature  to  whispered  appeals  for  more  credit, 
grinding  coffee  in  an  immense  wheel,  and  thumping  each 
loaf  of  bread  as  they  brought  it  up  from  under  the 
counter. 

Julia,  out  in  the  street  again  and  enjoying,  as  she  al 
ways  did  enjoy,  the  sense  of  being  a  busy  householder, 
facing  the  tide  of  home-goers,  would  perhaps  have  an 
errand  in  the  damp  depth  of  the  big  milk  depot,  would 
get  chops  or  sausages  at  some  small  shop,  or  stop  a  fruit 
cart,  driving  by  in  the  dimness,  for  apples  or  oranges. 

Then  home  to  the  brightly  lighted  little  kitchen,  the 
tireless  little  gas  stove.  Julia,  cheerfully  attempting  to 
do  ten  things  at  once,  would  look  up  to  see  Miss  Toland, 
comfortably  wrappered  and  corsetless,  in  the  doorway. 

"  Don't  forget  your  window  shades,  Julie." 

"I  know,  but  I  wanted  to  get  this  oven  started — if 
these  sweets  are  to  bake." 

"Give  me  something  to  do!"  And  the  older  woman, 
seated,  was  pleased  to  cut  bread  and  fill  salt  shakers  at 
the  request  of  her  busy  assistant.  "To-night's  the  older 
girls,  is  it?"  she  would  yawn.  "Is  Miss  Pierce  coming? 
Good!  Well,  tell  me  if  you  need  me,  and  I'll  dress  and 
come  out." 

"Oh,  we're  not  doing  much  to-night,"  Julia  inva 
riably  assured  her.  Miss  Toland  never  questioned  the 
verdict  that  freed  her  for  an  evening  of  restful  reading. 
Julia  it  was  who  lighted  the  hall  and  opened  the  street 
door,  and  welcomed  the  arriving  club  girls.  Some- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  145 

times  these  young  women  brought  their  sewing — in 
variably  fancywork.  Sometimes  there  was  a  concert 
to  rehearse,  or  they  danced  with  each  other,  or  stood 
singing  about  Julia  at  the  piano  while  she  banged  away 
at  the  crude  accompaniments  of  songs.  Miss  Pierce  or 
Miss  Watts,  older  women,  usually  came  in  for  a  little 
while  to  see  what  was  going  on,  but  again  it  was  Julia 
alone  who  must  bid  the  girls  good-night  and  lock  and 
darken  the  hall. 

Once  a  month  there  was  a  dance  for  the  older  girls, 
to  which  their  "friends,"  a  word  which  meant  to  each 
girl  her  foremost  male  admirer,  were  asked,  and  at 
which  cake  and  ice-cream  were  served.  Julia  always 
wore  her  uniform  to  these  dances,  but  she  also  danced, 
when  asked,  and  never  attempted  to  deny  that  she  en 
joyed  herself.  But  that  there  was  an  immense  gulf  al 
ready  widening  between  her  and  these  other  girls,  one 
of  whom  she  might  have  been,  she  soon  began  to  per 
ceive.  They  were  noisy,  ignorant,  coarse  young  crea 
tures,  like  children  unable  to  see  beyond  the  pleasure  or 
the  discomfort  of  the  day,  unable  to  help  themselves  out 
of  the  sordid  rut  in  which  they  had  been  born.  Julia 
watched  them  soberly,  silently,  as  the  years  went  by. 
Dne  by  one  they  told  her  of  their  wedding  plans,  and 
introduced  the  boyish,  ill-shaven,  grinning  lads  who 
were  to  be  husbands  and  fathers  soon.  One  by  one 
Julia  watched  the  pitifully  gay  little  weddings,  in  rooms 
poisonous  with  foul  air  and  crowded  with  noisy  kins- 
people.  One  by  one  she  welcomed  old  members  of  the 
Girls'  Club  as  new  members  of  the  Mothers'  Club.  The 
young  mother's  figure  would  be  curiously  shapeless  now, 
her  girlish  beauty  swept  away  as  by  a  sponge,  her  ner 
vous  pride  in  the  beribboned  baby  weakened  by  her  own 
physical  weakness  and  clouded  by  the  fear  that  already 
a  second  child's  claim  was  disputing  that  of  the  first. 
And  already  her  young  voice  would  borrow  some  of  the 
hopeless  whining  tones  of  the  older  women's. 

Julia  was  really  happiest  in  her  relationship  with  the 
children.  She  frequently  peeped  into  the  kindergarten 


146  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


during  the  morning,  and  had  her  dearly  loved  favourites 
among  the  tiny  girls  and  boys,  and  she  could  never  be 
absent  from  the  sewing  class  every  afternoon  when  some 
forty  small  girls  scattered  themselves  about  the  assem 
bly  hall,  and  chattered  and  sang  as  they  worked.  Vol 
unteers  from  among  the  city's  best  families  were  usually 
on  hand  to  inspect  the  actual  sewing — vague,  daintily 
dressed  girls  who  alternately  spoiled  and  neglected  their 
classes,  who  came  late  and  left  early — but  Julia  kept 
order,  supplied  materials,  recited  the  closing  prayer, 
and  played  the  marches  by  which  the  children  marched 
out  at  five  o'clock.  Now  and  then  she  incited  some 
small  girl  to  sing  or  recite  for  the  others,  and  two  or  three 
times  a  year  the  sewing  classes  gave  an  evening  en 
tertainment — extraordinary  affairs  at  the  memory  of 
which  Julia  and  Miss  Toland  used  to  laugh  for  weeks. 
To  drill  the  little,  indifferent,  stupid  youngsters  in  songs 
and  dances,  to  spangle  fifty  costumes  of  paper  cambric 
and  tissue,  to  shout  emphatic  directions  about  the  ex 
cited  murmurings  of  the  churning  performers,  to  chalk 
marks  on  the  stage,  and  mark  piano  scores,  were  all 
duties  that  fell  to  the  two  resident  workers.  Julia  sac 
rificed  her  immaculate  bedroom  for  a  green  room,  the 
perspiration  would  stream  from  her  face  as  she  whipped 
off  one  dirty  little  frock  after  another,  fastened  the  fairy 
regalia  over  unspeakable  undergarments,  and  loosened 
sticky  braids  of  black  or  yellow  hair  into  something 
approaching  a  fairylike  fluffiness.  One  second  to 
straighten  her  own  tumbled  hair  at  a  mirror,  another 
to  warn  her  carefully  ranged  performers  in  the  passage, 
and  Julia  was  off  to  light  the  hall  and  open  the  street 
door  to  the  clamorous  audience.  Opening  the  per 
formance  with  a  crash  of  chords  from  the  piano,  fifteen 
minutes  later,  she  would  turn  her  face  to  the  stage,  that 
the  singers  might  see  her  lips  framing  the  words  they 
were  so  apt  to  forget,  and  manage  to  keep  a  watchful 
eye  upon  the  noisy  group  of  boys  that  filled  the  back 
benches  and  the  gaslights  that  might  catch  a  fairy'i 
spear  or  a  witch's  wand. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  147 

"Well,  we've  had  some  awful  performances  in  the 
>lace,  but  really  I  think  to-night's  was  about  the  worst!" 
Miss  Toland  might  remark,  when  the  last  dirty  little 
garment  had  been  claimed  by  its  owner,  and  the  last 
airy  had  reluctantly  gone  away. 

"Well,  the  mothers  and  fathers  thought  it  was  fine," 
lulia  would  submit,  with  a  weary  grin. 

"When  that  awful  Cunningham  child,  with  her  awful, 
lat,  slapping  feet,  began  to  dance  the  Highland  Fling, 
truly  thought  I  would  strangle,  trying  not  to  laugh!" 
Vliss  Toland,  gazing  absently  over  her  book,  would  add 
eflectively. 

"And  the  Queen  of  the  Elves  in  those  dirty  pink  stock- 
ngs!     And  poor  Hazel,  bursting  into  tears  as  usual!" 
ulia,  collapsed  in  a  chair,  dishevelled  and  rosy,  would 
pve  a  long  sigh  of  relaxation  and  relief. 

"  But  we  don't  do  the  slightest  good  this  way,"  Miss 
Poland   sometimes   said   with   asperity.     "We   merely 
muse  them;  it  goes  no  further.     Now,  next  time,  we 
vill  make  it  an  absolute  condition  that  every  child  has 
bath  before  coming,  and  wears  clean  clothes!" 
"But  we  made  that  a  condition  this  time,  and  it 
didn't  do  any  good." 

"Very  well.  Next  time" — flushed  at  the  merest 
hint  of  opposition,  Miss  Toland  would  speak  with  an 
noyance — "next  time  every  child  who  hasn't  had  a 
bath  will  go  straight  into  that  tub,  I  don't  care  if  the 
performance  doesn't  begin  until  midnight!" 

"Well,"  Julia  would  concede  tolerantly.  She  very 
speedily  learned  not  to  dispute  these  vigorous  resolutions. 
Miss  Toland  always  forgot  them  before  morning;  she 
would  not  have  considered  them  seriously  in  any  case. 
"We  are  the  laughing-stock  of  the  city,"  she  would 
frequently  say  with  bitterness,  upon  being  informed 
that  more  thimbles  were  needed,  or  that  the  girls  hated 
to  sew  on  the  ugly  gray  ginghams.  But  sometimes 
Julia  found  her  giving  out  candy  and  five-cent  pieces, 
without  regard  for  the  girls'  merits  and  achievements, 
for  the  mere  pleasure  of  hearing  their  thanks. 


148  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Or  sometimes,  when  for  any  reason  the  attendance 
upon  the  sewing  classes  was  poor,  Miss  Toland  bought 
herself  a  new  blank  book,  dated  it  fiercely,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  ransack  the  neighbourhood  for  children  in  a 
house-to-house  canvass.  Julia  and  she  would  take  a 
car  into  Mission  Street,  eat  their  dinner  at  the  Colonial 
dining-room,  where  all  sorts  of  wholesome  dairy  dishes 
were  consumed  by  hungry  hundreds  every  night,  and 
where  a  white-clad  man  turned  batter  cakes  in  the 
window. 

"They  do  that  everywhere  in  New  York,"  said  Miss 
Toland,  thereby  thrilling  Julia.  "What,  d'you  like 
New  York?"  asked  the  older  woman. 

"I've  never  seen  it!"  Julia  breathed. 

"Well,  some  day  we'll  go  on — study  methods  there. 
Spring's  the  time,"  said  Miss  Toland,  raising  gold- 
rimmed  eyeglasses  to  study  the  grimy  and  spotted 
menu.  "Spring  afternoons  on  the  Avenue,  or  driving 
in  the  Park — it's  quite  wonderful!  I  see  they  have 
chicken  pie  specially  starred,  thirty-five  cents;  shall  we 
try  that?" 

After  the  meal  the  canvassing  began,  Miss  Toland 
doing  all  the  talking,  while  Julia  stared  about  the  small, 
stuffy  interiors,  and  smiled  at  the  babies  and  old  women. 
Miss  Toland  jotted  down  in  her  be  ok  all  the  details 
she  gathered  in  each  house,  and  only  stopped  in  her 
quest  when  the  hour  and  the  darkened  houses  re 
minded  her  that  the  evening  was  flying. 

This  might  keep  up  every  free  evening  for  two  weeks; 
it  would  end  as  suddenly  as  it  began,  and  Miss  Toland 
enter  upon  a  lazy  and  luxurious  phase.  She  would 
spend  whole  mornings  and  even  afternoons  in  bed, 
reading  and  dozing,  and  fresh  from  a  hot  bath  at  four 
o'clock,  would  summon  her  assistant  and  make  a  sug 
gestion  or  two. 

"Julia,  suppose  we  go  down  to  the  Palace  for  tea?" 

Julia,  standing  gravely  in  the  doorway,  considered. 

"The  girls  won't  be  gone  for  another  hour,  Miss  To 
land!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  149 

"The Oh,  the  girls,   to   be  sure.     Of  course. 

Vrio  else  is  there,  Julia?" 

Miss    Parker    and    Miss    Chetwynde.     And    Mrs. 
orbes  Foster  was  here  for  a  little  while." 

Miss  Toland,  drawing  on  silk  stockings,  would  make 

grimace. 

"What  did  you  tell  them?" 

"Sick  headache." 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  right!     Well,  get  through  out  there, 
nd  we'll  go  somewhere." 

The  assistant,  about  to  depart,  would  hesitate: 

"I  have  nothing  to  wear  but  my  tailor-made  and  a 
hite  waist,  Miss  Toland." 

"And  quite  good  enough!     No  one  will  notice  us." 

Perhaps  truly  no  one  noticed  the  eagerly  talking, 
iddle-aged  woman  and  her  pretty  and  serious  little 
Dmpanion,  as  they  sat  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  big  grill- 
)om,  eating  their  dinner,  but  Julia  noticed  everything, 
nd  even  while  she  answered  Miss  Toland  politely,  her 
s  were  moving  constantly  to  and  fro.  She  watched 
le  cellarer,  in  his  leather  apron,  the  well-dressed,  chat- 
Ting  men  and  women  who  came  and  went;  she  drank 
i  the  warm,  perfumed  air  as  if  it  were  the  elixir  of  life, 
he  music  enchanted  her,  the  big  room  with  its  lofty 
filing,  its  clustered  lights  and  flowers,  swam  in  a  glori- 
us  blur  before  her. 

Miss  Toland  would  bow  now  and  then,  and  tell  Julia 
bout  the  people  to  whom  she  bowed.     Once  they  saw 
)octor  Studdiford  laughing  and  talking  at  a  distant 
able  with  a  group  of  young  men,  and  once  it  was  Bar 
bara,  lovely  in  a  blue  evening  gown,  who  came  across  the 
room  to  speak  to  her  aunt. 

"And  hello,  Julia!"  said  Barbara  pleasantly,  on  this 
occasion,  resting  her  armful  of  blue  brocade  and  eider 
down  upon  a  chair  back.  "It's  awfully  nice  to  see  you 
two  enjoying  yourselves!" 

"What  are  you  doing,  dear?"  her  aunt  asked. 
"Mrs.   Maitland's    party — and    we're   going  to   the 


150  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Orpheum.  I  don't  care  much  for  vaudeville,  though." 
And  idly  eying  Julia,  she  added,  "Do  you,  Julia?" 

Julia's  heart  leaped,  her  mouth  felt  dry. 

"I  like  plays,"  she  stammered,  trying  to  smile,  and 
clearing  her  throat. 

"Well,  so  do  I."  Barbara  shrugged,  gathered  up  her 
coat  again,  and  drifted  away.  Julia  heard  nothing  else 
that  night  but  the  kindly,  insolent  little  voice  that 
seemed  to  make  a  friend  and  equal  of  her,  and  when  she 
was  alone  in  bed  in  the  dark,  she  went  over  and  over 
the  little  scene  again,  and  thrilled  again  at  Barbara's 
graciousness. 

Perhaps  six  times  a  year  Miss  Toland  went  to  Sausa- 
lito  for  a  few  days,  and  then,  during  her  first  year  as  a 
settlement  worker,  Julia  went  to  her  grandmother's 
house.  Evelyn  was  now  working  with  Ryan,  the  Tol- 
ands'  fashionable  dressmaker,  and  doing  extremely  well. 
Marguerite  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  as  foolishly 
happy  as  if  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  ideal  unions 
since  the  days  of  her  childhood.  Nobody  paid  very 
much  attention  to  Julia  except  Marguerite's  promised 
husband,  who  disgusted  her  by  hoarsely  assuring  her 
that  she  was  a  little  peach,  and  attempting  to  kiss  her. 
There  were  several  letters  from  her  mother,  from  which 
Julia  learned  that  her  father  was  well  again,  but  that  he 
had  left  her  mother,  who  had  entered,  with  a  friend, 
upon  the  boarding-house  business  in  Los  Angeles.  She 
wrote  her  mother  an  affectionate  letter,  and,  after  a  few 
months,  stopped  going  to  her  grandmother's  house. 

Miss  Pierce,  a  delicate,  refined,  unmarried  woman, 
was  a  daily  teacher  in  the  kindergarten,  and  grew  very 
fond  of  the  grave,  demure,  silent  Miss  Page.  Julia  felt 
enormously  flattered  when  Miss  Pierce  suggested  that 
she  come  home  with  her  during  one  of  Miss  Toland's 
brief  absences,  and  as  merry,  impulsive,  affectionate 
little  Miss  Scott  followed  suit,  she  usually  had  he 
choice  of  two  pleasant  places  in  which  to  spend  ner 
holidays. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  151 

Miss  Pierce  lived  with  her  old  mother  in  a  handsome 
upper  flat  on  Broadway.  Julia  liked  the  quiet,  dignified 
neighbourhood,  and  thought  Mrs.  Pierce  a  lovely  old 
lady.  She  chattered  with  Adachi,  the  Japanese  boy, 
tried  the  piano,  whistled  at  the  canary,  and  sat  watching 
Mrs.  Pierce's  game  of  patience  with  the  absorption  of  a 
rosy-cheeked,  wide-eyed  child.  Miss  Pierce,  glancing 
up  now  and  then  from  her  needlework,  thought  it  very 
nice  to  see  pretty  Miss  Page  there  and  Mamma  so 
well  amused,  and  wished  that  she  had  more  induce 
ments  to  offer  her  young  guest.  But  Julia  found  the 
atmosphere,  the  quiet  voices  and  quiet  laughter,  in 
ducement  enough,  and  quite  touched  Mrs.  Pierce  with 
her  gratitude. 

The  first  visit  to  Miss  Scott's  house,  however,  was  a 
revelation,  and  the  memory  of  it  stood  out  in  such  bold 
colours  as  made  the  decorous  pleasures  of  the  visit  to 
Miss  Pierce  turn  pale.  Julia  was  rushed  into  the  centre 
of  a  group  of  eager,  noisy,  clever  young  people,  six 
brothers -and  sisters  who  had  been  motherless  from 
babyhood,  and  were  in  mourning  now  for  their  father. 
The  Scotts  were  bold  and  outspoken  in  their  grief  as  in 
everything  else;  they  showed  Julia  their  father's  picture 
before  she  had  been  ten  minutes  in  the  house,  and 
Kennedy — Julia's  "Miss  Scott"  of  The  Alexander — 
flung  open  the  big  desk  so  violently  as  to  bring  two  vases 
and  a  calendar  to  the  floor,  and  read  Julia  various  notes 
and  letters  that  had  been  sent  them  at  the  time  of  their 
father's  death,  until  tears  stood  in  more  than  one  pair  of 
lovely  black  eyes.  Dinner  was  somehow  cooked  in  a 
Babel  of  voices,  served  in  a  rush,  and  afterward  their 
chatter  rose  above  the  hissing  of  dishwater  and  the 
clash  of  hot  plates.  Julia  laughed  herself  tired  at  the 
nonsense,  the  mad  plans,  and  untrammelled  dreams. 
Kennedy  was  to  be  a  writer,  'Lizabeth  the  president 
of  a  girls'  college,  little  Mary  wanted  to  live  in  "  Venith." 
The  boys  were  all  to  be  rich;  Peter,  the  oldest,  drew  his 
brothers  into  a  long,  serious  discussion  as  to  the  exact 
proportions  of  the  ideal  private  car. 


152  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"We'll  have  the  finish  mahogany,  d'ye  see?"  said 
Peter,  "and  the  walls  and  curtains  of  dark  green  velvet." 

"Dark  green  velvet!"  Kennedy  said,  from  the  couch 
where  she  was  sitting,  busy  with  a  torn  sleeve  lining. 
"Oh,  horrors !  Why  not  red  velvet  and  gold  braid ! " 

"Well,  what  would  you  have?"  Peter  asked  bellig 
erently. 

"Oh,  grayish  blue  velvet,"  'Lizabeth  suggested  rap 
turously. 

"Very  pale,  you  know,  and  silvery  curtains,"  Kennedy 
agreed,  "and  one  gorgeous  bluish-grayish-pinkish  rug, 
like  the  two-thousand-dollar  one  at  the  White  House!" 

"Well,"  Peter  said,  satisfied.  "And  what  colour 
upholstery?" 

"Dark  blue  might  be  beautiful,"  Julia  submitted 
timidly. 

"Dark  blue — you're  on,  Miss  Page!" 

"Or  a  sort  of  blue  brocade,"  'Lizabeth  said  dreamily. 

"And  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  name  the  cars,"  George, 
the  second  brother,  suddenly  contributed;  "you  know 
they've  got  to  be  named,  Pete.  We'll  call  the  dining- 
car,  'Dinah,'  and  the  sleeper,  'Bertha';  do  you  see?" 

The  others  shouted  approval,  Peter  adding  with  a 
grin,  a  moment  later: 

"And  we  might  call  the  observation  car  'Luke'!" 

"Oh,  Peter!"  Kennedy  expostulated,  laughing.  She 
presently  interrupted  the  completing  details  of  the 
private  train  by  general  suggestions  of  bed.  The  four 
girls  went  upstairs  together. 

"Oh,  Mary,  you've  fixed  everything,  you  little  angel, 
you!"  said  Kennedy,  seeing  that  hats  and  wraps  had 
been  put  away,  and  a  couch  made  up  in  a  large  shabby 
bedroom.  'Lizabeth,  professing  that  she  loved  a  couch, 
settled  herself  upon  it  with  great  satisfaction,  Julia  had  a 
single  bed,  and  Kennedy  and  the  little  Mary  shared  a 
somewhat  larger  one. 

Julia  watched  the  sisters  with  deep  admiration;  they 
were  all  tired,  she  knew,  yet  vigorous  ablutions  went 
on  in  the  cold  little  bathroom,  and  clothes  were  brushed 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  153 

and  made  ready  for  to-morrow's  need.  Their  joyous 
talk  was  pitifully  practical,  Mary  raising  the  dread 
topic  of  new  shoes  for  Stephen,  the  youngest,  and  Ken 
nedy  somewhat  ruefully  conceding  that  the  shoes  must 
be  had,  even  at  the  cost  of  the  needed  gallon  of  olive  oil. 

"No  salads  for  a  month,  and  they're  so  cheap!"  she 
mourned.  "And  that  young  terror  seems  to  me  to  need 
shoes  every  week!  Don't  ever  have  sons,  Miss  Page, 
they're  a  heart  scald  wid  the  bould  ways  av  thim! 
Stephen  had  nine  pairs  of  shoes  in  eight  months — that's 
true,  isn't  it,  'Lizabeth  ?  For  we  were  keeping  accounts 
then — while  Dad's  will  was  in  probate,  we  had  to." 

"A  good  thing  to  have  a  will  to  fall  back  on,"  said 
Julia. 

"Even  if  we  only  inherited  one  hundred  and  sixteen 
dollars  apiece,"  'Lizabeth  added. 

"Dad  had  had  losses — it  wasn't  any  one's  fault — 
everything  went  to  smash,"  Kennedy  supplemented 
instantly.  "And  of  course  when  we  found  that  Steve 
had  been  braking  his  coaster  with  his  feet,  that  helped. 
But  me — I'm  going  to  have  only  girls — five  darling  little 
gray-eyed  girls  with  brown  hair!" 

"I'd  like  a  boy  to  start  off  with,"  'Lizabeth  said. 
"He  could  take  his  sisters  to  parties " 

"Yes,  but  they  never  do;  they  take  other  girls  to 
parties!"  the  fifteen-year-old  Mary  said  suddenly,  and 
the  older  girls  laughed  together  at  her  sapience. 

"Peter  has  a  girl,"  Kennedy  said.  "But  naturally 
he  won't  desert  the  bunch.  Next  year,  when  some  bills 
we  simply  couldn't  help " 

"Doctor  and  nurse  when  George  and  Mary  had 
typhoid,"  'Lizabeth  explained. 

—are  paid  off,"  Kennedy  continued.  "Then,  if  he 
still  likes  her,  he  might.  But  he  never  stays  in  love 
very  long,"  she  ended  hopefully. 

The  four  girls  talked  late  into  the  night,  and  after  a 
picnic  the  next  day,  a  Sunday,  Julia  felt  as  if  she  loved 
them  all,  and  she  and  Kennedy  began  shyly  to  call  each 
other  by  their  given  names.  Peter  and  George  did  not 


154  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

go  on  the  picnic,  having  plans  of  their  own  for  the  day, 
but  the  others  spent  a  dreamy  day  on  Baker's  Beach, 
and  the  two  older  boys,  joining  the  group  at  dinner, 
ended  the  holiday  happily.  Julia  carried  away  definite 
impressions  to  be  brooded  over  in  her  quiet  times.  The 
Scotts  were  "ladies,"  of  course.  Somehow,  although 
they  were  very  poor,  they  all  worked  very  hard,  and  all 
dressed  very  shabbily,  they  were  "ladies,"  and  knew 
only  nice  people.  The  sisters  were  really  stronger  and 
braver  than  the  brothers,  and  loved  their  brothers  more 
than  they  were  loved.  Julia  wondered  why.  Also  she 
came  a  little  reluctantly  to  the  conclusion,  as  girls  at 
twenty,  whether  they  be  Julias  or  Barbaras,  usually  do, 
that  if  there  were  a  great  many  nice  young  men  in  the 
world,  there  were  a  great  many  marriageable  girls,  too. 
No  girl  could  expect  a  very  wide  choice  of  adorers, 
there  were  too  many  other  girls.  And  affairs  of  the 
heart,  and  offers  of  marriage,  occurred  much  more  often 
in  books  than  in  life. 

Two  or  three  times  a  week  Miss  Toland  liked  to  rise 
early  and  go  to  the  beautiful  eight  o'clock  mass  at  St. 
Anne's,  the  big  institution  for  unfortunate  girls  that  was 
not  far  from  The  Alexander  Toland  Neighbourhood 
House.  There  was  no  church  in  the  immediate  vicinity, 
and  in  asking  for  permission  to  come  to  the  convent 
chapel,  Miss  Toland  had  felt  herself  doing  no  extraor 
dinary  thing,  had  felt  almost  within  her  rights. 

But  the  good  nuns  in  charge  of  St.  Anne's  had  whetted 
her  appetite  for  the  experience  by  interposing  un 
expected  objections.  Their  charges,  they  explained, 
about  two  hundred  in  number,  were  very  impressionable, 
very  easily  excited.  A  stranger  in  the  chapel  meant  a 
sensation.  Of  course,  the  lay  workers  of  the  institution 
and  the  old  people  from  the  Home  across  the  way  some 
times  came  in,  but  they  were  so  soberly  dressed.  Per 
haps  if  Miss  Toland  and  Miss  Page  would  dress  in  dark 
things,  and  assure  Good  Mother  that  they  would  not 
speak  to  the  girls 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  155 

"Oh,  certainly!"  Miss  Toland  had  agreed  eagerly. 
Julia,  awed  by  the  airy,  sombre  interior  of  the  great 
building,  the  closed  doors,  the  far-away  echoes  of  foot 
steps  and  subdued  voices,  was  a  little  pale. 

"And  this  is  your  little  assistant?"  said  Good  Mother, 
suddenly,  turning  a  smile  of  angelic  brightness  upon 
Julia.  "Well,  come  to  mass  by  all  means,  both  of  you. 
And  pray  for  our  poor  children,  dear  child;  we  are  always 
in  need  of  prayers." 

"You  must  have  extraordinary  experiences  here," 
Miss  Toland  said. 

"And  extraordinary  compensations,"  said  the  nun. 
"Of  course,  some  of  our  poor  children  are  very  wild — at 
first.  We  do  what  we  can.  I  had  a  little  pet  of  mine 
here  until  yesterday,  Alice,  ten  years  old;  she  is " 

"  Ten!"  ejaculated  "Miss  Toland. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  dear!  And  younger;  she  was  but  eight 
when  she  came.  What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  her 
mother  took  her  away  yesterday,  and  Sister  Philip  Neri 
was  amused  to  see  how  sad  I  was  to  have  her  go.  She 
reminded  me  that  when  Alice  first  came  here  she  had 
bitten  my  hand  to  the  bone,  so  that  I  could  not  use  it  for 
three  weeks.  Ah,  well!"  And  Good  Mother  gave  the 
sweet  toneless  laugh  of  the  religious.  "That  is  not  the 
worst  of  it — a  clean  bite  on  the  hand!" 

Miss  Toland  bought  an  alarm  clock  on  the  way  home, 
and  she  and  Julia  went  to  early  mass  on  the  very  next 
morning.  Julia  found  this  first  experience  an  ordeal;  she 
and  Miss  Toland  were  in  a  side  pew  before  the  big  gong 
struck,  and  Julia  did  not  raise  her  eyes  from  her  book  as 
the  girls  filed  in.  The  steady  rustle  of  frocks  and  shuffle 
of  feet  made  her  feel  cold  and  sick. 

A  day  or  two  later  she  could  watch  them,  although 
never  without  profound  emotion.  Two  hundred  girls, 
ranging  in  years  from  ten  to  twenty,  with  roughly  clipped 
hair,  and  the  hideous  gray-green  checked  aprons  of  the 
institution.  Two  hundred  faces,  sullen  or  vacuous, 
pretty,  silly  faces,  hard  faces,  faces  tragically  hopeless 
and  pale.  These  young  things  were  offenders  against 


156  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

the  law,  shut  away  here  behind  iron  bars  for  the  good  of 
the  commonwealth.  Julia,  whose  life  had  made  her  wise 
beyond  her  years,  watched  them  and  pondered.  Here 
was  an  almost  babyish  face;  what  did  that  innocent- 
looking  twelve-year-old  think  of  life,  now  that  she  had 
thrown  her  own  away  ?  Here  was  a  sickly  looking  girl  a 
few  years  older,  coughing  incessantly  and  ashen  cheeked; 
why  had  some  woman  borne  her  in  deathly  anguish, 
loved  her  and  watched  her  through  the  years  that  least 
need  loving  and  watching?  This  thing  that  they  had 
all  done — this  treasure  they  had  all  thrown  away — what 
did  they  think  about  it? 

She  would  come  out  very  soberly  into  the  convent 
garden,  and  walk  home,  through  the  delicious  airs  of  a 
spring  morning,  without  speaking,  perhaps  to  breakout, 
over  her  belated  coffee: 

"Oh,  I  think  it's  horrible — their  being  shut  up  there, 
the  poor  little  things!" 

"They  have  sensible  work,  plenty  to  eat,  and  they're 
safe,"  Miss  Toland  might  answer  severely.  "And 
that's  a  great  deal  more  than  they  deserve!" 

"Nobody  worried  about  them  until  it  was  too  late," 
Julia  suggested  once,  in  great  distress.  "Lots  of  them 
never  would  have  done  anything  wrong  if  they'd  had 
work  and  food  then!" 

"Well,  the  nuns  are  very  kind  to  them,"  Miss  Toland 
answered  comfortably;  and  Julia  knew  this  was  true, 
as  far  as  possible. 

One  morning,  when  Julia  slipped  into  her  place  in 
St.  Anne's,  she  saw,  two  feet  away  from  her,  on  an  un- 
draped  trestle,  a  narrow  coffin,  and  in  the  coffin  the  rigid 
form  of  a  girl  who  had  been  prayed  for  a  few  mornings 
earlier  as  very  ill.  There  was  not  a  flower  on  the  still, 
flat  young  breast,  and  no  kindly  artifice  beautified  the 
stern  face  or  the  bare,  raw  little  hands  that  protruded 
from  the  blue-green  gingham  sleeves.  The  ruined 
little  tenement  that  had  served  some  man's  pleasure 
and  been  flung  aside  lay  there  as  little  beholden  to  the 
world  in  death  as  it  had  been  in  life.  And  as  if  the  us- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  15T 

ual  silence  of  the  chapel  would  be  too  hard  to  bear,  the 
living  girls  chanted  to-day  the  "Dies  Irae"  and  the 
"Libera  me." 

When  winter  came,  the  little  trestle  was  often  in 
requisition,  for  the  inmates  of  St.  Anne's  were  ill-fitted 
to  cope  with  any  sickness.  Once  it  was  a  nun,  in  her 
black  robes,  who  lay  there,  her  magnificent  still  face 
wearing  its  usual  deep,  wise  smile,  her  tired  hands 
locked  about  her  crucifix.  For  her  there  were  flowers, 
masses  of  flowers,  and  more  than  one  black-robed 
priest,  and  a  special  choir,  and  Julia  knew  that  the 
other  nuns  envied  that  one  of  their  number  who  had 
gone  on  to  other  work  in  other  fields. 

She  grew  grave,  who  was  always  grave,  thinking  of 
these  things,  and  talked  them  over  with  Kennedy 
Scott.  Kennedy  was  deeply,  even  passionately,  con 
cerned  for  a  while,  and  she  and  Julia  decided  to  estab 
lish  a  home  some  day  for  girls  who  were  still  to  be  saved. 

Time  went  very  swiftly  now:  years  were  not  as  long 
as  they  used  to  be,  one  birthday  was  in  sight  of  another. 
Sometimes  Julia  was  astonished  and  a  little  saddened, 
as  is  the  way  of  youth,  at  the  realization  of  the  flying 
months.  She  was  busy,  contented,  beloved;  she  was 
accomplishing  her  ambition — but  at  what  a  cost  of 
years!  The  great  moment  might  come  now  at  any 
time — Prince  Charming  might  be  on  his  way  to  her  now, 
but  meantime  she  must  work  and  eat  and  sleep — and 
the  birthdays  came  apace.  Sometimes  she  grew  very 
restless;  this  was  not  life!  But  a  visit  to  her  grand 
mother's  house  usually  sent  her  back  to  The  Alexander 
with  fresh  courage.  No  possible  alternative  offered  it 
self  anywhere. 

Just  at  first  she  had  hoped  for  inspiring  frequent 
glimpses  of  her  adored  Tolands,  but  these  were  very 
few.  Sometimes  Barbara  or  the  younger  girls  would 
come  to  Easter  or  Christmas  entertainments  at  the  set 
tlement,  but  Julia,  always  especially  busy  on  these 
occasions,  saw  no  more  than  Barbara's  pretty,  bored 


158  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

face,  framed  in  furs,  across  a  room  full  of  people,  or  re 
turned  a  dignified  good-bye  to  Sally's  hasty,  "Mother 
and  the  others  have  gone  on,  Miss  Page;  they  asked  me 
to  say  good-bye!"  But  then  there  was  the  prospect 
of  a  day  with  Kennedy  Scott,  to  console  her,  or  perhaps 
the  reflection  that  little  Mr.  Craig,  who  came  out  on 
Tuesday  evenings  to  the  meetings  of  the  Boys'  Club,  was 
in  love  with  her.  She  did  not  wish  to  marry  Mr.  Craig, 
still  it  was  nice  of  him  to  admire  her;  it  was  nice  to  have 
a  new  hat;  it  was  pleasant  to  visit  the  San  Jose  convent, 
with  Miss  Toland,  and  be  petted  by  the  nuns.  So 
Julia  cheated  herself,  as  youth  forever  cheats  itself,  with 
the  lesser  joys. 

She  went  home  for  three  or  four  days  at  the  time  of 
her  father's  death,  and  afterward  deliberately  decided 
not  to  accompany  her  mother  on  a  trip  south.  Erne- 
line  had  nine  thousand  dollars  of  life  insurance,  and 
thought  of  buying  a  half  interest  in  a  boarding-house 
in  Los  Angeles. 

"All  the  theatrical  trade  goes  there,"  said  Emeline, 
"and  you  could  get  a  berth  as  easy  as  not!" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Julia  said,  gently,  concealing  an  in 
ward  shudder.  She  went  quietly  back  to  The  Alexander, 
when  the  funeral  was  over,  to  her  mother's  disgust. 
Emeline  did  not  go  south,  but  lingered  on  at  home, 
drinking  tea  and  gossiping  with  her  mother,  quarrelling 
with  her  old  father,  and  gradually  eating  into  her  bank 
account.  She  called  upon  her  daughter,  to  Julia's 
secret  embarrassment,  though  the  girl  introduced  this 
overdressed,  sallow,  hard-eyed  mother  with  what  dig 
nity  she  could  muster  to  Miss  Pierce,  Miss  Scott,  and 
Miss  Toland.  Emeline  laughed  and  talked  with  an  air 
of  ease,  was  forced  into  silence  when  Julia  said  the  clos 
ing  prayer,  and  burst  out  laughing  at  its  close. 

"That  does  sound  so  funny,  dolling!  But  I  mustn't 
laugh,"  said  Emeline.  "I'm  sure  you  do  wonders  for 
these  girls,  and  they  need  it,"  she  added  graciously 
to  Miss  Toland.  She  followed  Julia  into  the  little 
kitchen^ 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  159 

"  Don't  she  help  you  cook?"  she  asked  in  a  low  tone, 
indicating  Miss  Toland  with  a  jerk  of  her  much-puffed 
head. 

"Sometimes  she  does,"  Julia  answered,  annoyed. 

"H'm!"  Emeline  said.  And  she  asked  curiously  a 
moment  later,  "Why  you  do  it  is  what  gets  me!  Here's 
Marguerite  going  to  get  married,  and  Ev  has  an  ele 
gant  job,  and  I  want  you  to  go  south  with  me;  you'd 
have  a  grand  time!" 

She  stopped  on  a  complaining  note,  her  eyes  honestly 
puzzled.  Julia  closed  the  oven  door  upon  some  po 
tatoes,  and  stood  up. 

"I'm  perfectly  satisfied,  Mama,"  said  she  briefly. 
"I'm  doing  what  I  want  to  do." 

"Lord!"  Emeline  ejaculated,  discontentedly,  vaguely 
baffled  by  the  girl's  definiteness  and  dignity.  She  left 
soon  after,  Julia  dutifully  walking  with  her  to  her  car. 
Miss  Toland  said  nothing  of  the  visitor  when  Julia  came 
back,  but  she  knew  the  girl  was  troubled,  and  lay  awake 
a  long  time  herself  that  night,  conscious  that  Julia,  in 
the  next  room,  was  restless  and  wakeful. 

Besides  a  certain  troubled  consciousness  of  her  failure 
to  please  her  own  people,  Julia  had  in  these  years  a  more 
definite  source  of  worry.  Mark  Rosenthal  was  still 
her  patient  adorer,  and  if,  like  Julia,  he  allowed  the  fly 
ing  months  to  steal  a  march  upon  him,  and  drifted  along 
in  the  comfortable  conviction  that  "a  little  while" 
would  bring  a  change  in  Julia's  feeling,  still  he  was  none 
the  less  a  watchful  and  ardent  lover,  with  whom  she 
sometimes  found  it  very  difficult  to  deal. 

Mark,  always  tall,  was  broad  as  well  now,  an  impos 
ing  big  fellow,  prosperous,  shrewd,  and  self-confident. 
He  had  handsome  dark  eyes,  and  showed  white  teeth 
when  he  laughed;  he  dressed  well,  but  not  conspicuously; 
his  shoes  might  be  well  worn,  but  they  were  always 
bright;  and  if  his  suit  were  shabby,  still  he  was  never 
without  gloves.  He  liked  to  talk  business;  he  had  long 
ago  given  up  his  music  and  devoted  himself  with  mar- 


160  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

vellous  success  to  his  work.  He  was  no  longer  with  the 
piano  house,  but  had  an  excellent  position  as  adjuster 
of  damages,  out  of  court,  for  one  of  the  street  railway 
companies.  The  history  of  his  various  promotions  and 
his  favour  with  his  employers  was  absorbing  to  him; 
but  the  time  came,  when  Julia  was  about  twenty-two, 
when  his  determination  to  win  her  became  a  serious 
menace  to  her  peace. 

His  manner,  which  had  once  been  boyish  and  uncer 
tain,  was  in  these  days  good-humouredly  proprietary. 
He  laughed  at  little  Julia's  earnest  explanations,  and 
would  answer  her  most  eager  appeal  only  with  a  lover's 
fond  comment  upon  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  darling,  I  wasn't  listening — forgive  me!"  he 
said  one  day,  when,  with  a  spark  of  real  anger,  Julia 
had  begged  him  to  make  his  calls  at  the  settlement  house 
a  little  less  frequent  and  less  conspicuous.  "What  was 
it?"  And  with  twinkling  eyes  he  caught  up  the  hand 
that  lay  near  him  on  the  table  and  kissed  it. 

"I  want  you  not  to  do  that,  Mark,"  said  Julia 
gravely,  moving  a  little  farther  away,  "and  please 
don't  call  me  darling!" 

|| All  right,  darling!"  smiled  Mark. 

"I'm  not  joking,"  Julia  said  resentfully,  two  red  spots 
in  her  cheeks. 

Mark  moved  to  lay  his  hand  over  hers  penitently, 
and  said,  in  the  low,  gentle  voice  Julia  dreaded: 

"Do  you  know  what's  the  matter  with  you,  Julie? 
I'll  tell  you.  You  love  me  and  you  won't  admit  it. 
Girls  never  will.  But  that's  what  makes  you  so  un 
happy — you  won't  let  yourself  go.  Ah,  Julia!  be  fair 
to  yourself,  darling!  Tell  me  that  you  care  for  me. 
I've  waited  seven  years  for  you,  dear " 

"Oh,  you  have  not!"  Julia  said  impatiently. 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  I  haven't!"  Mark  said  chal- 
lengingly.  "Ah,  but  you  know  I  have,  darling.  And 
I  want  my  wife."  It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
Miss  Toland  was  dozing  in  her  own  room.  Julia  and 
Mark  were  alone  in  the  deserted  assembly  hall.  Sud- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  161 

denly  he  slipped  on  his  knees  beside  her,  and  locked 
one  arm  about  her  waist.  "You  will,  won't  you,  Julia  ? " 
he  stammered. 

Julia,  scarlet  cheeked,  tried  to  rise,  and  held  him  off 
with  her  hands. 

"Oh,  please,  please"  she  begged.  "I  can't,  Mark. 
You  are  awfully  good  to  me — Fm  not  worth  it,  and  all 
that — but  I  cant.  I — it's  not  my  fault  I  don't  want 
to,  is  it?  It  would  be  wrong  to  do  it,  feeling  this 
way " 

She  was  on  her  feet  now,  and  Mark  stood  up,  too. 
Both  were  breathing  hard;  they  looked  at  each  other 
through  a  widening  silence.  Flies  buzzed  against  the 
closed  windows,  a  gust  of  summer  wind  swept  along  the 
street  outside.  Suddenly  Mark  caught  Julia  fiercely 
in  his  arms,  and  felt  her  heart  beating  madly  against 
him,  and  forcing  up  her  chin  with  a  gentle  big  hand, 
kissed  her  again  and  again  upon  her  unresponsive  lips. 

"There!"  he  said,  freeing  her,  a  laugh  of  triumph  in 
his  voice.  "Now  you  belong  to  me!  That's  the  kind 
of  a  man  that's  in  love  with  you,  my  girl,  and  don't 
you  think  for  one  instant  that  you  can  play  fast  and 
loose  with  him!" 

Julia  sat  still  for  a  long  time  after  the  street  door 
banged,  staring  straight  ahead  of  her.  She  was  going 
for  this  week-end  to  the  little  house  the  Scotts  had  been 
loaned  in  Belvedere  for  the  season,  and  she  dressed  and 
packed  her  suitcase  very  soberly.  Miss  Toland  went 
with  her  to  the  ferry,  both  glad  to  get  the  fresh  breath 
of  the  water,  and  Julia  had  a  riotous  dinner  with  the 
Scotts,  and  a  wonderful  evening  drifting  about  in  their 
punt  between  the  stars  in  the  low  summer  sky  and  the 
stars  in  the  bay.  When  they  were  in  their  porch  beds 
she  told  Kennedy  all  about  Mark,  and  Kennedy  com 
mented  that  he  certainly  was  a  gratifyingly  ardent 
admirer. 

"Ardent ?  I  should  think  so ! "  sighed  Julia,  and  went 
to  sleep,  not  ill-pleased  with  her  role  of  the  inaccessible 
lady.  But  the  fact  that  Mark's  persistence  could  not 


162  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

be  discouraged  fretted  her  a  good  deal.  He  rarely 
gave  her  a  chance  for  a  definite  snub;  if  she  was  ungra 
cious,  his  humble  patience  waited  tirelessly  upon  her 
mood;  and  if  she  smiled,  he  showed  such  wistful  delight 
that  even  Julia's  cool  little  heart  was  stirred.  That  he 
never  stirred  her  in  any  deeper  way,  that  his  kisses  did 
not  warm  her,  was  not  a  serious  trouble  to  Mark.  She 
would  be  all  the  sweeter  to  win;  he  would  wake  her  in 
his  arms  to  the  knowledge  that  she  loved  him!  And 
Julia  won,  as  his  little  wife,  would  be  dearer  even  than 
the  demure  and  inaccessible  Julia  of  to-day.  Mark 
fed  his  hungry  heart  on  love  tales;  many  a  man  had 
won  a  harder  fight  than  his;  these  cold,  shy  girls  made 
the  best  wives  in  the  world! 

Julia  began  seriously  to  consider  the  marriage.  She 
visioned  a  safe  and  pleasant  life,  if  no  very  thrilling  one. 
Mark  was  handsome,  devoted,  he  was  making  money, 
he  would  be  faithful  to  his  wife  and  adore  his  children. 
Julia  would  have  no  social  position,  of  course.  She 
sighed.  She  would  be  a  comfortable  little  complacent 
wife  among  a  thousand  others.  She  would  have  her 
silk  gowns,  her  cut  glass;  she  could  afford  an  outing  at 
Pacific  Grove  with  the  children;  some  day  she  and 
Mark  would  go  to  New  York 

No,  not  she  and  Mark!  She  couldn't;  she  didn't 
love  him  enough  to  sit  opposite  him  all  the  mornings  of 
her  life,  to  sell  her  glowing  dreams  for  him!  She  had 
come  so  far  from  the  days  that  united  her  childhood 
with  all  the  Rosenthals — she  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Tar- 
bury,  nor  Rose,  nor  Connie  for  years.  She  was  climb 
ing,  climbing,  away  from  all  those  old  associations. 
And  she  could  climb  faster  alone! 


CHAPTER  VII 

ONE  warm  morning  in  August,  when  Miss  Toland  was 
stretched  out  on  the  reception-room  couch,  and  Julia, 
who  had  washed  her  hair,  was  shaking  it,  a  flying,  fluffy 
mop,  over  the  sill  of  the  bathroom  window,  a  sudden 
hubbub  broke  out  in  the  kindergarten.  Miss  Toland 
flung  down  her  book  and  Julia  gathered  her  loose 
wrapper  about  her,  and  both  ran  to  the  door  of  the 
assembly  hall.  The  children,  crying  and  frightened, 
were  gathered  in  a  group,  and  in  the  centre  of  it  Julia, 
from  the  elevation  of  the  stage,  could  see  Miss  Pierce 
half-kneeling  and  leaning  over  as  if  she  tried  to  raise 
something  from  the  floor.  While  they  watched  she 
arose,  holding  the  limp  body  of  a -five-year-old  child  in 
her  arms. 

"What  is  it — what  is  it?"  screamed  Miss  Toland,  but 
as  every  one  else  was  screaming  and  crying,  and  Julia's 
automatic,  "Is  she  dead?"  was  answered  over  and  over 
again  only  by  Miss  Pierce's  breathless,  "No — no — no — I 
don't  think  so!"  it  was  some  time  before  any  clear  idea 
of  the  tragedy  could  be  had.  The  small  girl  was  carried 
in  to  Julia's  bed,  where  she  lay  half-conscious,  moaning; 
great  bubbles  of  blood  formed  from  an  ugly  skin  wound 
in  her  lip,  and  her  little  frock  was  stained  with  blood. 
As  an  attempt  to  remove  her  clothes  only  roused  her  to 
piercing  screams,  Julia  and  Miss  Pierce  gave  up  the 
attempt,  and  fell  to  bathing  the  child's  forehead,  which, 
with  the  baby  curls  pushed  away  from  it,  gave  a  ghastly 
look  to  the  little  face. 

"Well,  you've  killed  her,  Miss  Pierce!"  said  Miss 
Toland,  beside  herself  with  nervousness.  " That's  a 
dying  child,  if  I  ever  saw  one.  That  ruins  this  Settle 
ment  House !  That  ends  it !  Poor  little  thing ! " 

163 


164  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"I  was  at  the  board,"  said  Miss  Pierce,  white-lipped, 
and  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  don't  care  where  you  were,"  said  Miss  Toland. 
"There,  there,  darling!  I  pay  you  to  watch  these  chil 
dren!  It's  a  fine  thing  if  a  child  is  going  to  be  killed 
right  here  in  the  house!  Where  was  Miss  Watts?"  she 
broke  off  to  ask. 

"Miss  Watts  is  at  home,  sick,"  Miss  Pierce  said 
eagerly.  "And  I  was  at  the  board,  when  some  of  those 
bigger  boys  set  a  bench  up  on  top  of  another  bench.  I 
heard  the  noise  and  turned  around;  this  child — poor 
little  Maude  Daley,  it  is — was  standing  right  there,  and 
got  the  full  weight  of  both  benches  as  they  fell." 

"This  boy  is  back,"  said  Julia,  coming  from  the  front 
door,  "and  he  says  that  Doctor  White  is  out  and  Doctor 
McGuire  is  out,  too!" 

"Great  heavens!"  Miss  Toland  began  despairingly. 
"No  doctor!  of  course,  eleven  o'clock  they're  all  out  on 
morning  rounds !  And  the  child's  mother,  where  is  she  ? 
Am  I  the  only  person  here  who  can  do  something  except 
sit  around  and  say  'I'm  sorry,  I'm  sorry!" 

"She  has  no  mother,  and  her  grandmother's  out," 
Julia  said  soothingly.  "Miss  Toland,  if  I  telephone  do 
you  think  I  can  catch  Doctor  Studdiford  at  the  City 
and  County?" 

"A  two  hours'  trip  from  Sausalito!"  Miss  Toland 
said  scornfully.  "You  must  be  crazy,  that's  all!  No! 
Go  into  Mission  Street " 

"I  don't  mean  in  Sausalito,"  Julia  said  firmly;  "he's 
at  the  City  and  County  on  Wednesday  mornings,  you 
know.  I  could  get  him  there." 

Miss  Toland  stared  at  her  unblinkingly  for  a  second. 

"Yes,  do  that!"  she  said  then.  "Yes,  that's  a  good 
idea!"  And  as  Julia  ran  to  the  telephone  she  called 
after  her,  "Yes,  that's  a  very  good  idea!" 

Julia's  heart  thumped  as  she  called  the  big  institu 
tion,  thumped  when  after  a  long  wait  a  crisp  voice,  out 
of  utter  silence,  said: 

"Yes?    This  is  Doctor  Studdiford!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  165 

She  explained  as  concisely  as  she  could,  feeling  that 
he  listened  attentively. 

"Keep  the  child  flat,  no  pillow,"  he  said,  as  Julia  con 
cluded.  "Tell  my  aunt  I'll  be  there  in  fifteen  minutes." 

Julia,  thrilled  by  she  knew  not  what,  knotted  her 
flying  hair  loosely  on  her  neck  and  buttoned  on  a  fresh 
uniform.  Ten  minutes  later  she  admitted  Doctor  Stud- 
diford  to  the  sickroom. 

He  had  laid  aside  his  hat  and  washed  his  hands.  Now 
he  sat  down  by  the  bed  and  smiled  at  the  dazed,  moan 
ing  little  Maude.  Julia  felt  something  expand  in  her 
heart  as  she  watched  him,  his  intense,  intelligent  face, 
his  singularly  winning  smile,  the  loose  lock  of  dark  hair 
on  his  forehead. 

"Now,  then,  Maude,"  said  he,  his  clever,  supple 
fingers  on  her  wrist,  "where  does  it  hurt?" 

Maude  whimpered  something  made  unintelligible  by 
the  fast-stiffening  cut  in  her  lip. 

"Her  back's  broken,  Jim,  no  doubt  about  it,"  said 
Miss  Toland  grimly. 

"I  think  her  side  hurts,"  Miss  Pierce  submitted 
eagerly. 

"Well,  we'll  see— we'll  see!"  Doctor  Studdiford  said 
soothingly.  "Now,  if  you'll  help  me,  Miss  Page,  we'll 
get  off  these  clothes — ah!"  For  an  anguished  moan 
from  the  sufferer  coincided  with  his  discovery  that  the 
little  left  arm  hung  limp.  Julia  loosened  the  sleeve  as 
the  surgeon's  scissors  clipped  it  away,  and  she  held  the 
child  while  the  arm  was  set  and  bandaged.  Miss  Pierce 
was  faint,  and  Miss  Toland  admitted  freely  that  she 
hated  to  see  a  child  suffer,  and  went  away. 

"Only  a  clean  dislocation,  Aunt  Sanna!"  said  Jim, 
cheerfully,  when  he  came  out  of  the  sickroom.  "She'll 
have  to  lie  still  for  a  while,  but  that's  all.  The  cut  on 
her  mouth  doesn't  amount  to  anything.  She's  all  right, 
now — Miss  Page  is  telling  her  stories.  She  ought  to 
have  a  glass  of  milk,  or  soup,  or  something;  then  she'll 
go  to  sleep.  I'll  be  in  to-morrow.  By  the  way,  you 
have  a  little  treasure  there  in  Miss  Page!" 


166  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"  Julia?     Glad  you  have  the  sense  to  see  it,  Jim!" 

"She — is — a — peach!"  the  doctor  mused,  packing  his 
very  smart  little  instrument  case.  "Who  is  she?" 

"A  little  girl  I  found.  Yes,  she's  a  nice  child,  Julia. 
She's  been  here  six  years  now." 

"  Six  years !     Great  Scott !     How  old  is  she  ? " 

'' Twenty-two — twenty-three — something  like  that." 

"It  doesn't  sound  much  of  a  life  for  a  young  girl, 
Aunt  Sanna.  Imagine  the  Barbary-flower!"  Doctor 
Studdiford  shook  his  thermometer,  looked  at  it,  and 
screwed  it  into  its  case. 

"How  is  Barbara?"  Miss  Toland  asked  dryly. 

"Fine!  Mother  came  to  me  with  a  long  tale,  the 
other  day,  about  her  being  run  down,  or  blue,  or  some 
thing,  but  I  don't  see  it.  She  has  a  dandy  time." 

"Why  doesn't  she  marry?  Barbara  must  be  twenty- 
six,"  her  aunt  said,  with  directness. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  why  don't  all  the  girls?  The 
fellows  they  run  with  are  an  awfully  bum  lot,"  Jim  said 
contentedly.  "Look  at  me!  Why  don't  I?"  he  added, 
laughing. 

"Well,  why  don't  you?" 

"I'm  waiting  to  settle  the  others  off,  I  guess.  Besides, 
you  know,  I've  been  working  like  the  devil!  Sally's 
been  worrying  Mother  with  her  affairs  lately,"  said  Jim. 

"Sally— and  who?" 

"Keith  Borroughs!"  Jim  announced,  grinning. 

"Keith  Borroughs?     Why,  he's  ten  years  younger!" 

"He's  about  three  years  younger,  and  he's  an  awful 
fool,"  said  Jim,  "but  he's  very  much  in  love  with  Sally, 
and  she  certainly  seems  to  like  it!" 

"I  think  that's  disgusting!"  said  Miss  Toland.  "Has 
hea/ofc?" 

"Job?  He's  a  genius,  my  dear  aunt.  His  father 
pays  for  his  music  lessons,  and  his  mother  gives  him  an 
allowance.  He's  a  pianist." 

"H'm!"  commented  the  lady  briefly. 

"Ned  has  definitely  announced  his  intention  of 
marrying  his  Goldfield  girl,"  pursued  Jim. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  167 

"Yes,  I  knew  that.     Kill  your  mother!" 

"It'll  just  about  kill  her.  And  the  latest  is  Ted — 
falling  in  love  with  Bob  Carleton!" 

"Carleton!  Not  the  lumber  man?  But  he's  fifty!" 
;  "He's  forty-five,  forty-seven  perhaps." 

"But  he's  married,  Jim!" 

"Divorced,  Aunt  Sanna." 

"Oh,  Jim,  that's  awful!"  said  his  aunt,  horrified. 

"Well,  it  may  come  to  nothing.  Ted's  only  twenty — 
I  hope  devoutly  it  will.  There — that's  all  the  news!" 
Jim  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and  gave  his  aunt  a  kiss. 
"Why  don't  you  come  over  and  get  it  for  yourself,  now 
and  then!  I  don't  know  how  much  there  is  in  any  of 
this  stuff,  because  I  use  my  rooms  at  the  club  a  good 
deal,  but  it's  all  in  the  wind.  That  little  Julia  Page  is  a 
peach,  isn't  she?" 

"You  said  that  once,"  Miss  Toland  said  dispassion 
ately.  Jim  grinned,  unabashed.  He  had  been  in  love 
with  one  girl  or  another  since  his  fourteenth  year,  and 
liked  nothing  so  much  as  having  his  affairs  of  the  heart 
discussed. 

"Well,  it's  true,  and  I'll  say  it  again  for  luck!"  said 
he.  "  Who  is  she  ?  I  suppose  Pius  Aloysius  Maloney,  or 
some  good  soul  who  comes  to  teach  the  kids  boxing,  has 
got  it  all  framed  up  with  her?" 

"I  don't  know  any  Mr.  Maloney,"  Miss  Toland 
answered  imperturbably.  "Mr.  Craig  is  director  of  the 
Boys'  Club,  and  I  know  he  admires  her,  and  she  has 
another  admirer,  too,  who  comes  here  now  and  then. 
But  how  likely  she  is  to  marry  I  really  can't  say!  She's 
an  extremely  ambitious  girl,  and  she  has  determined  to 
raise  herself." 

"Raise  herself!"  Jim  said,  with  a  casual  laugh.  "I 
don't  suppose  she  started  much  lower  than  other 
people?" 

"Oh,  I  imagine  she  did.  Her  father  was  a — I  don't 
know — a  sort  of  drummer,  I  guess,  but  her  mother  is  an 
awful  person,  and  her  grandfather  was  a  day  labourer!" 

"Ha!"  Jim  said,  discomfited.     "Well,  see  you  to- 


168  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

morrow!"  he  added,  departing.  He  walked  briskly  to 
the  corner  of  the  street,  and  experienced  a  thump  at  the 
heart  when  a  casual  backward  glance  discovered  Julia, 
in  a  most  fetching  hat,  coming  out  of  the  settlement 
house  with  a  market  basket  on  her  arm.  She  did  not 
see  him,  and  Jim  decided  not  to  see  her.  Of  course  she 
was  a  little  peach,  but  that  labourer  grandfather  was  too 
much! 

That  same  evening  Julia  used  the  accident  to  little 
Maude  as  an  excuse  to  break  a  half  engagement  with 
Mark.  He  was  to  be  given  only  a  few  moments'  chat 
before  the  Girls'  Club  met  for  a  rehearsal,  but  he  showed 
such  bitter  disappointment  at  losing  it  that  Julia,  half 
against  her  will,  promised  to  spend  at  least  part  of  her 
Sunday  afternoon  with  him. 

This  was  on  Wednesday,  and  on  Thursday  and 
Saturday  Doctor  Studdiford  came  to  see  his  little  pa 
tient,  and  both  times  saw  Julia,  too.  He  asked  Julia 
what  books  she  liked,  and,  surprised  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  Browning,  he  sent  her  a  great  volume  of  his 
poetry,  a  leather-bound  exquisite  edition  that  Jim  had 
taken  some  trouble  to  find.  With  the  book  came  a  box 
of  violets,  and  Julia,  opening  the  package,  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  was  a  rich  man,  and  stood,  flushed 
and  palpitating  to  a  thousand  emotions,  looking  down  at 
the  damp,  fragrant  flowers. 

She  wore  a  few  violets  at  the  breast  of  her  sober  little 
gown  when  she  met  Mark  on  Sunday  for  the  promised 
walk.  Julia  had  been  most  reluctant  to  go,  but  Maude 
had  been  moved  to  her  own  home,  and  the  child's  father 
was  sitting  with  her,  so  that  Julia  had  ip  excuse  to  visit 
her. 

"I  want  to  show  you  something — something  you'll 
like!"  said  Mark  eagerly.  "We  take  the  Sixteenth 
Street  car  and  transfer  down  Sacramento." 

Julia  accepted  his  guidance  good-naturedly,  and  they 
crossed  the  city,  which  lay  in  a  clear  wash  of  the  warm 
September  sunlight.  Mark  led  Julia  finally  to  the  ornate 
door  of  a  new  apartment  house  in  Sacramento  Street. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  169 

"What  is  it,  Mark?"  the  girl  asked,  as  they  went  in. 
"Some  one  we  know  live  here?" 

"You  wait!"  Mark  said  mysteriously.  He  went  to  a 
desk  in  the  handsome  entrance  hall,  and  talked  for  a  few 
moments  to  a  clerk  who  sat  there.  Then  a  quiet-look 
ing,  middle-aged  woman  came  out,  and  Mark  and  Julia 
went  upstairs  with  her,  in  a  little  elevator. 

The  woman  turned  a  key  in  a  door,  and  led  them  into  a 
charmingly  bright  front  apartment  of  four  good-sized 
rooms  and  a  shining  bathroom.  There  was  a  bedroom 
with  curly-maple  furniture,  a  dining-room  with  a  hang 
ing  lamp  of  art  glass  on  a  brass  chain,  and  Mission  oak 
table  and  chairs,  a  kitchen  delightfully  convenient  and 
completely  equipped,  and  a  little  drawing-room,  with  a 
gas  log,  a  bookshelf,  a  good  rug,  a  little  desk,  and  some 
rocking  chairs  and  small  tables  The  sun  shone  in 
through  fresh  net  curtains,  and  the  high  windows  com 
manded  a  bright  view  of  city  roofs  and  a  glimpse  of  the 
bay. 

Julia  began  to  feel  nervous  and  uncomfortable.  She 
did  not  understand  at  all  what  Mark  meant  by  this,  but 
it  was  impossible  to  doubt,  from  his  beaming  face,  that 
some  plan  involving  her  was  afoot.  He  couldn't  have 
furnished  this  apartment  in  the  hope ? 

"Whose  place  is  this,  Mark?"  she  asked,  trying  to 
laugh  naturally. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  Mark  countered,  his  eyes  dancing. 

"Like  it?  It's  simply  sweet,  of  course!  But  whose 
is  it?" 

"Well,  now  listen,"  Mark  explained.  "It's  Joe 
Kirk's  furniture;  he's  just  been  married,  you  know.  He 
and  his  wife  had  just  got  back  from  their  honeymoon 
when  Joe  got  an  offer  of  a  fine  job  in  New  York.  He 
asked  me  to  see  if  I  couldn't  find  a  tenant  for  this — two 
years'  lease  to  run — just  as  it  stands;  no  raise  in  rent. 
And  the  rent's  fifty-five?"  he  called  to  the  woman  in  the 
next  room. 

"Fifty,  Mr.  Rosenthal,"  she  answered  impassively. 

"Fifty!"  Mark  exulted.     "Think  of  getting  all  this 


170  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

for  fifty!  Ah,  Julia" — he  came  close  to  her  as  she  stood 
staring  down  from  the  window,  and  lowered  his  voice— 
"will  you,  darling?  Will  you?  You  like  it,  don't  you? 
Will  you  marry  me,  dearest,  and  make  a  little  home  here 
with  me?" 

"Oh,  Mark!"  Julia  stammered,  a  nervous  smile 
twitching  her  lips. 

"Well,  why  won't  you,  Ju?  Do  you  doubt  that  I 
love  you?  Answer  me  that!" 

"Why,  no — no,  I  don't,  of  course."  Julia  moved  a 
little  away. 

"Don't  go  over  there;  she'll  hear  us!  And  you  love 
me,  don't  you,  Ju  ? " 

"But  not  that  way  I  don't,  Mark,"  Julia  said  child 
ishly. 

"Oh,  'not  that  way' — that's  all  rubbish — that's  the 
way  girls  talk;  that's  just  an  expression  they  have! 
Listen!  Do  you  doubt  that  I'll  always,  always  love 
you?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mark,  of  course  not!"  Julia  admitted.  "But 
I  don't  want  to  marry  any  one " 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?  Haven't  I  loved  you 
since  you  were  a  little  girl  ? " 

"Yes,  I  know — of  course  you  have!  Only" — Julia 
gave  him  a  desperate  smile — "only  I  can't  discuss  such 
things  here,"  she  pleaded,  "with  that  woman  so  near!" 

"You're  right!"  Mark  said,  with  military  prompt 
ness,  and  as  one  who  loves  to  receive  his  lady's  orders. 
"We'll  go  out.  Only — I  wanted  you  to  see  it!" 

And  as  they  went  out  he  must  stop  to  show  her  the 
admirably  deep  drawers  of  the  little  sideboard  and  the 
ingenious  arrangement  by  which  the  gas  was  electrically 
lighted. 

They  thanked  the  woman,  and  began  the  long  ride 
back  to  the  settlement  house,  for  Julia  never  left  Miss 
Toland  long  alone.  In  the  Sacramento  Street  car  they 
both  had  to  stand,  but  Mark  found  seats  without  dif 
ficulty  on  the  dummy  of  the  Fillmore  Street  car,  and 
laying  his  arm  along  the  back  of  Julia's  seat,  swung  about 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  171 

so  that  his  face  was  very  close  to  hers.  A  world  of  wist 
ful  tenderness  filled  his  voice  as  he  said  again: 

"Well,  darling,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Poor  Mark!  Perhaps  if  he  had  asked  her  only  a  week 
earlier,  his  lady  might  have  given  him  a  kinder  answer. 
But  Julia  was  walking  in  a  golden  dream  to-day,  a 
dream  peopled  only  by  herself  and  one  other,  and  she 
hardly  noticed  his  emotion.  She  fixed  her  blue  eyes 
vaguely  on  the  black  eyes  so  near,  and  smiled  a  little. 

"Oh,  answer  me,  Julia!"  Mark  said  impatiently. 
And  a  second  later  he  asked  alertly:  "Where'd  you  get 
the  violets?" 

"Oh — somebody,"  Julia  temporized.  Pink  flooded 
her  cheeks. 

"Who?"  said  Mark,  very  calm. 

"Oh,  Mark,  what  a  tone!  Nobody  you  know!" 
Julia  laughed. 

"Is  he  in  love  with  you?"  Mark  asked  fiercely. 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  silly!     No,  of  course  he's  not." 

"Tell  me  who  he  is!"  Mark  commanded  grimly. 

"Now,  look  here,  Mark,"  Julia  said  sternly,  "you 
stop  that  nonsense,  or  you  can  get  straight  off  this  car, 
and  I'll  go  home  alone!  And  don't  you  sulk,  either,  for 
it's  too  ridiculous,  and  I  won't  have  it!" 

Mark  succumbed  instantly. 

"It's  because  I  love  you  so,"  he  said  humbly.  There 
was  a  little  silence,  then  Julia,  watching  the  Sunday 
streets,  said  suddenly: 

"Look,  Mark,  look  at  the  size  of  that  hat!" 

Mark,  disdaining  to  turn  his  eyes  for  the  fraction  of  a 
moment  from  her  face,  said  reproachfully: 

"Are  you  going  to  answer  me,  Julia?" 

"How  do  you  mean?"  Julia  said  nervously. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Mark  answered,  with  an 
impatient  nod. 

"No,  I  don't,"  Julia  said,  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Now,  you  look-a-here,  Julia — you  look-a-here," 
Mark  began,  almost  angrily.  "I  am  going  to  ask  you 
to  marry  me!  You've  fooled  about  it,  and  you've 


172  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

laughed  about  it,  and  I've  got  a  right  to  know!  I  think 
about  it  all  the  time;  I  lie  awake  at  night  and  think 
about  it.  I"— his  voice  softened  suddenly — "I  love 
you  awfully,  Julia,"  he  said.  And  then,  with  a  sort  of 
concentrated  passion  that  rather  frightened  the  girl, 
he  added,  "So  I'm  going  to  ask  you  once  more.  I  want 
you  to  answer  me,  d'ye  see?" 

The  car  sped  on,  clanged  across  Market  Street, 
turned  into  the  Mission.  Julia  had  grown  a  little  pale. 
She  gave  Mark  a  fleeting  glance,  looked  away,  and  finally 
brought  her  eyes  back  to  him  again. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  things  so  seriously,  Mark," 
she  began  uneasily.  "You're  always  forcing  me  to 
say  things — and  I  don't  want  to — I  don't  want  to  get 
married  at  all " 

" Nonsense!"  said  Mark  harshly. 

"It's  not  nonsense!"  Julia  protested,  glad  to  feel  her 
anger  rising.  Mark  saw  her  heightened  colour,  and  mis 
read  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said  sneeringly.  "That's  all  very  well, 
but  I'll  bet  you'd  feel  pretty  badly  if  I  never  came  near 
you  again — if  I  let  the  whole  thing  drop!" 

"Oh,  Mark,"  said  Julia  fervently,  "if  you  only  would 
—I  don't  mean  that!"  she  interrupted  herself,  compunc 
tion  seizing  her  at  the  look  of  mortal  hurt  on  his  face. 
"But  I  mean — if  you  only  didn't  love  me!  You  see, 
I'm  perfectly  happy,  Mark,  I've  got  what  I  want.  And 
if  Miss  Toland  takes  me  abroad  with  her  next  year,! 
why,  it'll  mean  more  to  me  than  any  marriage  could, 
don't  you  see  that  ?  You  know  what  my  childhood  was, 
Mark;  my  mother  didn't  love  my  father —  And  as 

a  sudden  memory  of  the  old  life  rose  to  confront  her, 
Julia's  tone  became  firm;  she  felt  a  certain  sureness. 
"Married  people  ought  to  love  each  other,  Mark,5 
she  said  positively.  "I  know  that.  And  I  won't — I 
never  will  marry  a  man  I  don't  love.  If  everything 
goes  wrong,  after  that,  you  have  only  yourself  to  blame. 
And  so  many  times  it  goes  wrong,  Mark!  I  should  be 
unhappy,  I  should  keep  wondering  if  I  wouldn't  be 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  173 

happier  going  my  own  way — wondering  if  I  wouldn't 
have — have  gotten  farther — do  you  understand  me?" 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Julia,  and  during  it  Mark 
had  twisted  about,  and  pulled  his  hat  over  his  face. 
Now,  in  a  voice  curiously  dead  and  hard,  he  asked 
briefly: 

" Gotten  farther — where?'' 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Julia  candidly.  "But  the  more 
I  read,  and  the  more  I  think,  the  more  it  seems  to  me 
that  anyone  can  be  anything  in  this  world;  there's  some 
queer  rule  that  makes  you  rise  if  you  want  to  rise,  if 
only  you  don't  compromise!  The  reason  so  many  peo 
ple  don't  ultimately  get  what  they  want  is  because  they 
stop  trying  for  it,  and  take  something  else!" 

''And  marriage  with  me  would  be  a  compromise,  is 
that  it?"  Mark  muttered  sullenly. 

"  It  would  be  for  me,"  Julia  answered  serenely.  "  Be 
cause  staying  where  I  am  keeps  me  nearer  what  I  want." 

"Money,  huh?"  asked  Mark. 

"Oh,  money,  no!  Books  and  talk — things.  And — 
and  if  I  loved  you,  Mark,  then  don't  you  see  it  would 
be  the  right  thing  to  marry  you?"  she  added  brightly. 
"But  now,  it  would  only  be  because  it  was  easier,  or 
because  I  was  tired  of  The  Alexander,  do  you  see?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  Mark  answered  drearily. 

A  long  silence  ensued.  In  silence  they  got  off  the  car, 
and  walked  through  the  cheerless  twilight  of  the  dirty 
streets,  and  they  were  almost  in  sight  of  the  settlement 
house  before  Mark  burst  out,  a  little  huskily: 

"Then  there's  no  chance  for  me  at  all,  Julie?" 

"Oh,  Mark,  I  feel  rotten  about  it!"  said  Julia  frankly, 
her  eyes  full  of  pity  and  regret,  and  yet  a  curious  relief 
evident  in  her  voice.  "I  am  so  sorry!  I've  just  been 
thinking  of  girls  who  like  this  sort  of  thing — I  don't  see 
how  they  can!  I  am  so  sorry!  But  you  won't  mind 
very  long,  Mark;  you  won't  always  care;  you'll — why, 
there's  Doctor  Studdiford's  automobile!" 

For  they  were  in  sight  of  The  Alexander  now,  and 
could  see  the  electric  runabout  at  the  door.  Motor 


174  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

cars  were  still  new  to  San  Francisco  and  to  the  world, 
and  a  crowd  of  curious  children  surrounded  the  machine. 

"What's  he  there  for?"  Mark  asked  gruffly. 

Julia  explained:  the  accident — the  emergency  call. 

"Well,  but  the  kid  is  not  there  now,  you  say?" 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  he  didn't  know  that.  I  suppose 
he's  calling  on  his  aunt." 

To  this  Mark  made  no  immediate  answer.  Presently 
he  said: 

"City  and  County!  I'll  bet  the  city  pays  for  his 
automobile!" 

"Oh,  no!"  Julia  protested.  "He's  a  rich  man  in  his 
own  right,  Mark." 

They  were  at  the  house  now,  and  went  up  the  steps 
together.  Doctor  Studdiford  was  in  the  little  reception 
hall  with  Miss  Toland.  He  looked  very  handsome,  very 
cheerful,  as  he  came  forward  with  his  fine  eyes  on  Julia. 
And  Julia  stood  looking  up  at  him  with  an  expression 
Mark  never  had  won  from  her,  her  serious,  beautiful 
little  face  flooded  with  light,  her  round  eyes  soft  and 
luminous.  A  woman  at  last,  she  seemed  as  she  stood 
there,  a  grave  and  wise  and  beautiful  woman,  ripe  for 
her  share  of  loving  and  living,  ready  to  find  her  mate. 

"You  got  the  book?"  Jim  said,  with  a  little  laugh. 
He  laughed  because  his  heart  was  shaking  curiously, 
and  because  the  sudden  sight  of  Julia  disconcerted  him 
so  that  he  hardly  knew  what  he  said. 

Julia  did  not  answer;  she  only  touched  the  wilting 
and  fragrant  violets  on  her  breast  with  her  free  hand. 
Jim  still  held  one  hand. 

"You — you'll  like  Browning,"  added  Jim.  And  in 
consequentially  he  added,  "I  was  thinking  of  our  little 
talk  yesterday — all  night." 

"So  was  I,"  Julia  breathed.  They  turned  suddenly 
and  self-consciously  to  Miss  Toland  and  Mark.  Julia 
introduced  the  men;  her  breath  was  coming  unevenly 
and  her  colour  was  exquisite;  she  talked  nervously,  and 
did  not  meet  Mark's  eye.  Mark  was  offered  a  lift  in 
Doctor  Studdiford's  motor  car,  and  declined  it.  The 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  175 

seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  go;  wandered  into 
her  room  to  advise  his  aunt  upon  the  placing  of  a  tele- 
phore  extension.  Julia  and  Mark  loitered  about  the 
assembly  hall  for  a  few  empty  moments,  and  then 
Mark  said  he  must  go,  and  Julia,  absently  consenting, 
went  with  him  toward  the  stage  door. 

"And  he's  rich,  is  he?"  said  Mark. 

Julia  came  out  of  a  brief  dream. 

"He's  very  rich — yes!"  she  smiled. 

She  mounted  to  the  stage  as  she  spoke,  and  Mark 
held  out  his  hand  and  turned  about  as  if  to  say  good 
bye.  The  next  instant  Julia  felt  as  if  the  dull  twilight 
room  had  turned  to  brass  and  was  falling  with  a  wild 
clamour;  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  were  being  dragged 
bodily  to  her  lips,  and  she  heard  her  own  wild  scream. 

Silence  fell,  and  Mark  was  still  staring  at  her,  still 
smiling.  But  now  he  toppled  slowly  toward  her  and 
stumbled,  and  as  his  body,  with  a  hideous,  slithering 
sound,  slipped  down  to  the  floor,  his  arm  fell  lax,  and  the 
still  smoking  revolver  slid  to  Julia's  very  feet. 

"  Stop,  Julia — what  is  it  ? — what  is  it  ? "  Miss  Toland 
was  crying.  She  locked  her  arms  tight  about  the  girl, 
and  drew  her  back  into  the  reception  hall.  Julia  was 
silent,  suddenly  realizing  that  she  had  been  screaming. 
She  moved  her  tongue  over  her  dry  lips,  and  struggled 
to  explain. 

"Now  we  understand  perfectly!"  Doctor  Studdiford 
said  soothingly.  "He  shot  himself,  poor  fellow.  I'm 
going  to  take  care  of  him,  do  you  see  ?  Just  keep  stilly 
Aunt  Sanna,  or  we'll  have  a  crowd  here.  Aunt  Sanna, 
do  you  want  this  to  get  into  the  papers?"  For  Miss 
Toland's  surmises  were  delivered  at  a  sort  of  shriek. 

"Oo — oo — oo !"  shuddered  Julia,  fearful  eyes  on  the 
assembly  room  door.  "He  was — we  were  just  talk- 
ing " 

f^Is  he  dead,  Jim?"  asked  Miss  Toland  fearfully. 

"I  think  so.  I'm  going  to  call  the  hospital  for  an 
ambulance,  anyway."  Doctor  Studdiford  was  all 
brisk  authority. 


176  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"But  what  ever  possessed  him?"  shrilled  Miss  Toland 
again.  "Of  atflfcttip/" 

"Had  you  quarrelled?"  asked  Jim,  keen  eyes  on  Julia 
as  he  rattled  the  telephone  hook. 

"No,"  Julia  said  shortly,  like  a  child  who  holds  some 
thing  back.  Then  her  face  wrinkled,  and  she  began  to 
cry.  "He  wanted  to  marry  me,"  she  said  piteously. 
"He  wanted  me  to  promise!  But  he  always  has  asked 
me — ever  since  I  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  I  always  said 
no!" 

"Well,  now,"  Jim  said  soothingly.  " Don't  cry.  You 
couldn't  help  it.  Do  you  know  why  he  carried  a  re 
volver?" 

"He  has  to  carry  it,  his  business  isn't  a  very  safe  one," 
Julia  said  shakily.  "He's  shown  it  to  me  once  or 
twice ! "  Her  voice  dropped  on  a  trembling  note,  and  her 
eyes  were  wild  with  frig'ht. 

"Now,  Aunt  Sanna,"  said  Jim  quietly,  after  telephon 
ing,  "I  think  that  you  and  Miss  Page  ought  to  get  out  of 
here.  You'll  have  a  raft  of  reporters  and  busybodies 
here  to-morrow.  It's  a  ghastly  thing,  of  course,  and  the 
quieter  we  keep  it  the  better  for  every  one.  I'll  manage 
my  end  of  it.  I'll  have  as  conservative  an  account  as  I 
can  in  the  papers — simply  that  he  was  despondent  over  a 
love  affair  and,  in  a  fit  of  temporary  aberration — and  so 
on.  Could  you  close  this  place  up  for  a  week?" 

"Certainly!"  said  Miss  Toland,  with  Spartan  prompt 
ness,  beginning  to  enjoy  the  desperate  demand  of  the 
hour. 

"And  could  you  take  that  poor  child  somewhere,  out 
of  the  public  eye?" 

"I  will  indeed,  Jim!" 

"Well,  that's  the  best  way  to  do.  You're  a  trump, 
Aunt  Sanna!  -I  will  say  that  Miss  Page  is  naturally 
prostrated,  and  gone  away  to  friends." 

"Jim,  has  that  poor  boy  a  chance?" 

"A  chance?  No.  No;  he  died  instantly.  It  was 
straight  through  the  brain.  Yes,  terrible — naturally. 
Now,  will  you  take  what  you  need " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  177 

f  "Instantly!"  said  Miss  Toland,  with  a  shudder. 
"Oh,  Jim,  I'm  so  glad  you're  a  doctor,"  she  added 
weakly,  clutching  his  arm,  "and  so  cold  blooded  and 
reliable!" 

"I'm  glad  I  was  here,"  Jim  answered  simply.    "Hello 
look  at  poor  little  Miss  Page !     She's  fainted ! " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  WAS  Christmas  time  before  Julia  saw  Doctor  Studdi- 
ford  again,  and  then  it  was  but  for  a  few  minutes. 
Christmas  Eve  was  wet  and  blowy  out  of  doors,  but  the 
assembly  hall  of  The  Alexander  looked  warm  and  bright; 
there  were  painfully  made  garlands  of  green  looped  about 
the  windows,  bells  of  red  paper  hung  from  all  the  chande 
liers,  and  on  the  stage  an  enormous  Christmas  tree  glit 
tered  with  colour  and  light.  Six  hundred  people  were 
crowded  into  the  room,  more  than  half  of  them  children. 
Babies  twisted  and  climbed  on  the  laps  of  their  radiant 
mothers,  small  girls  and  boys  everywhere  were  restless 
with  excitement  and  anticipation.  Miss  Toland  only 
appeared  at  intervals,  spending  most  of  the  afternoon 
with  a  few  chosen  guests  in  the  reception  hally  but 
Julia  was  everywhere  at  once.  She  wore  a  plain  white 
linen  gown,  with  a  bit  of  holly  in  her  hair  and  on  her 
breast,  and  whether  she  was  marshalling  small  girls 
into  groups,  stopping  to  admire  a  new  baby,  meet 
ing  the  confectioner's'  men  and  their  immense  freezers 
at  the  draughty  side  door,  talking  shyly  with  the 
directors  in  Miss  Toland's  room,  or  consoling  some 
weeping  infant  in  the  hall,  she  was  followed  by  admir 
ing  eyes. 

At  three  o'clock  the  general  restlessness  visibly  in 
creased,  and  the  air  in  the  hall,  between  steaming  wet 
garments  and  perspiring  humanity,  became  almost  in 
sufferable.  Julia  experimentally  opened  a  door  and  let 
in  a  wet  blast  of  air,  but  this  was  too  drastic,  and  her 
eyes  were  brought  back  from  a  wistful  study  of  the  high 
windows  by  a  voice  that  said : 

" Merry  Christmas !     Give  me  a  stick,  and  I'll  do  it  for 


you!" 


178 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  179 

The  girl  found  her  hand  in  Doctor  Studdiford's,  and 
their  eyes  met. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  here!"  said  Julia,  in  swift 
memory  of  their  last  meeting. 

"~  "Just    come."     He    looked    at    her,    all    kindliness. 
"How  goes  it?" 

"Finely,"  Julia  answered.  When  he  had  opened  a 
window,  he  followed  her  across  the  room;  "I  may  stay 
near  you,  mayn't  I?" 

"I  am  just  going  to  begin,"  Julia  said,  taking  her 
place  at  the  piano,  and  facing  the  room  across  the 
top  of  it.  Her  small  person  seemed  suddenly  fired  with 
authority.  She  struck  a  full  chord.  "Children!"  she 
said.  "Children!  Who  is  talking?  Some  one  is  still 
talking!  Keep  still,  everybody,  please!  Keep  still, 
every  one. 

"Now  we  are  going  to  sing  the  'Adeste' — four  verses. 
And  then  we'll  give  out  the  presents.  Listen,  every 
one!  We  are  going  to  sing  the  'Adeste,'  and  then  give 
out  the  presents.  The  presents,  of  course,  go  only  to 
our  own  girls  and  boys,  do  you  understand  that? 
Listen,  children,  please! 

"But  we  have  a  box  of  candy  for  every  child  here, 
whether  that  child  comes  to  any  of  the  classes  or  not! 
So  don't  go  home  without  your  candy.  And  don't  come 
up  for  your  present  until  you  hear  your  name  called,  do 
you  understand  that?  If  I  see  any  child  coming  up 
before  Miss  Pierce  calls  her  name,  I'll  send  her  right 
back  to  her  seat !  Now,  the  'Adeste,'  please ! " 

Jim  had  listened  in  intense  amusement.  How 
positive  she  was  and  how  authoritative!  Her  straight 
little  back,  her  severe  braids,  her  stern  blue  eyes  roving 
the  hall  as  she  touched  the  familiar  chords,  were  all  so 
different  from  the  vague  young  women  who  were  Bar 
bara's  friends.  She  played  a  few  wandering  chords  after 
the  distribution  of  gifts  began,  watching  the  children  file 
up  the  aisle,  and  listening,  with  only  an  occasional  lifting 
of  her  blue  eyes  to  his  face,  to  Doctor  Studdiford's  smil 
ing  comments.  Her  heart  was  beating  high  under  a  flood 


'180  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

of  unsensed  joy,  she  did  not  know  why — but  she  was 
happy  beyond  all  words. 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  go  help  Miss  Pierce  and  Miss 
Furey,  Doctor,"  she  said  presently,  standing  up.  "Our 
Miss  Scott,  who  got  married  two  years  ago,  used  to  be  a 
perfect  wonder  at  times  like  this !  Here,  little  girl,  little 
girl!  You  don't  come  to  the  classes,  do  you?  No? 
Well,  then,  go  back  to  your  seat  and  wait — you  see!" 
She  turned  despairingly  to  Jim.  "You  see,  they're 
simply  making  a  mess  of  it!" 

"I  have  to  go,  anyway,"  said  Jim. 

"Oh?"  Julia  turned  surprised  eyes  toward  him,  and 
said  the  one  thing  she  meant  to  avoid.  "But  Mrs. 
Toland  and  Miss  Barbara  are  coming,"  she  submitted. 

"And  what  of  it?"  Jim  said  meaningly.  It  was  his 
turn  to  say  the  awkward  thing.  "How  are  the  nerves 
these  days?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Colour  flooded  Julia's  face. 

"Much  better,  thank  you!  I  gave  the  tonic  up 
weeks  ago.  It  was  just  nerves,"  explained  Julia,  "a 
sort  of  breakdown  after  we  came  back  from  Cloverdale! 
And  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you!"  she  ended  shyly. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  not  at  all!"  Jim  protested  gruffly.  An 
unmanageable  silence  hung  between  them  for  a  few 
seconds;  then  Julia,  with  a  murmured  excuse,  went  to 
the  extrication  of  Miss  Pierce,  now  hopelessly  involved 
in  a  surge  of  swarming  children,  and  Jim  went  on  his 
way.  He  carried  with  him  a  warm  memory  of  the  erect 
young  figure  in  white,  and  the  thick  twisted  braid,  set 
against  a  background  of  Christmas  green.  For  Julia 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon  was  enchanted;  an  enchant 
ment  subtly  flavoured  with  the  odour  of  evergreen,  and 
pierced  by  rapturous  voices,  and  by  the  glowing  colours 
of  the  Christmas  tree,  and  the  slapping  rain  at  the 
window. 

She  and  Miss  Toland  sat  down,  exhausted  and  well 
satisfied,  at  seven  o'clock,  to  a  scrappy  little  supper  in 
the  littered  dining-room:  one  director  had  left  choco 
lates,  another  violets;  a  child's  soiled  hair  ribbon,  still 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  181 

tied,  lay  on  the  floor;  the  chairs  were  pushed  about  at  all 
angles. 

"Give  me  some  more  coffee,  dear,  and  open  that  box 
of  candy,"  said  Miss  Toland  luxuriously.  "We'll  sleep 
late,  and  go  to  high  mass  at  the  Cathedral.  Alice  always 
has  room  in  her  pew.  And  then  we  might  go  over  to 
Sausalito  and  say  'Merry  Christmas/  They'll  all  be 
scattered;  Jim  tells  me  he  and  my  brother  have  an 
operation  at  twelve,  poor  wretches!  And  I  suppose 
Barbara  and  little  Sally  will  be  off  somewhere.  Sally 
always  tries  to  keep  them  together  for  Christmas  Eve, 
but  in  my  opinion  they're  all  bored  by  this  tree  and 
stocking  business.  But  of  course  Ned  and  his  ex 
traordinary  wife  will  be  all  over  the  place!" 

"I've  not  been  in  Sausalito,  except  once,  for  eight 
years,"  Julia  said  reflectively. 

"I  know  you've  not.  Well,  we'll  go  to-morrow." 
Miss  Toland  reached  for  a  cigarette;  yawned  as  she 
lighted  it.  But  Julia's  heart  began  to  beat  fast  in 
nervous  anticipation. 

Mrs.  Toland  received  them  very  graciously  the  next 
day,  and  Julia  was  at  once  made  to  feel  at  home  in  the 
pretty  house,  which  was  littered  charmingly  to-day  with 
all  sorts  of  Christmas  gifts,  and  bright  with  open  fires. 
Barbara  was  there,  and  the  crippled  Richie,  but  Sally 
had  gone  to  a  Christmas  concert  with  her  devoted  little 
squire,  Keith  Borroughs,  and  Mrs.  Toland  presently 
took  Miss  Sanna  aside  for  a  long,  distressed  confidence. 
Theodora,  it  seemed,  had  had  a  stormy  argument  with 
her  father  on  the  subject  of  her  admirer,  Robert  Carle- 
ton,  some  days  before,  and  yesterday  had  left,  in  defiance 
of  all  authority,  to  meet  him  for  a  walk,  and  lunch  with 
him.  She  and  her  father  had  not  spoken  to  each  other 
since,  and  Ted  was  keeping  her  room.  Julia  met  Ned's 
wife,  a  pretentious,  complacent  little  gabbling  village 
belle,  and  was  dragged  about  by  the  younger  sisters  to 
look  at  everybody's  presents. 

"Must  be  a  long  time  since  we  saw  you  here,  Miss 


182  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Page?"  said  the  old  doctor,  smiling  at  her  over  his 
glasses,  as  he  carved  at  luncheon. 

"I  was  here  two  years  ago,  one  afternoon,"  Julia 
smiled.  "But  I  think  I  haven't  seen  you  since  'The 
Amazons' — eight  years  ago!" 

"Eight  years!"  Barbara  said,  struck.  "Mother,  do 
you  realize  that  it  is  eight  years  since  I  was  in  that  play 
with  the  Hazzards  and  Gray  Babcock  and  the  Grinells? 
Isn't  that  awful  ?  "  She  fell  into  sombre  thought. 

Julia  went  through  the  day  in  a  sort  of  deep  study. 
This  was  the  enchanted  castle  that  had  stood  to  her  for 
so  long  as  the  unattainable  height  of  dreams;  these  were 
the  envied  inhabitants  of  that  castle.  Everything  was 
the  same,  except  herself,  yet  how  incredibly  the  change 
in  her  affected  everything  about  her!  She  was  at  home 
here  now,  could  answer  the  table  pleasantries  with  her 
ready,  grave  smile,  could  feel  that  her  interest  in  Con 
stance  and  Jane  was  a  pleasure  to  them,  or  could  pick  a 
book  from  the  drawing-room  table  with  the  confidence 
that  what  she  said  of  it  would  not  be  ridiculous.  She 
could  even  feel  herself  happier  than  Barbara,  who 
listened  so  closely  to  what  Julia  said  of  the  settlement 
house,  and  sighed  as  she  listened. 

After  luncheon  Richie  took  her  driving  over  cold  coun 
try  roads,  behind  a  big-boned  gray  mare,  and  adored 
her,  though  she  never  dreamed  it,  because  she  neither 
offered  to  take  the  reins  nor  asked  him  at  intervals  if  his 
back  was  tired.  He  was  finishing  work  at  the  school  of 
medicine  now,  and  although  he  could  never  hope  to  be  in 
regular  practice,  his  thin,  bony  face  was  very  bright  as 
he  outlined  his  plans.  Julia  listened  to  him  sympa 
thetically,  and  said  good-bye  to  him  at  the  boat  with  a 
sense  of  genuine  liking  on  both  sides.  Miss  Toland  was 
waiting  for  her  on  the  upper  deck,  her  long  nose  nipped 
and  red  in  the  cold  air. 

"Well,  he  saw  that  you  didn't  miss  it,  after  all!"  said 
she,  with  a  welcoming  light  for  Julia  in  her  sharp  eyes, 
though  she  did  not  smile.  "Sit  down!  I've  been 
hearing  nice  things  about  you,  my  dear!  I  said  to  Sally, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  183 

'So  there  is  something  in  old  maids'  children,  eh?" 
Miss  Toland  chuckled;  she  was  well  pleased  with  her 
protegee.  Julia  settled  herself  comfortably  beside  her. 
She  liked  to  watch  the  running  gray  water,  and  to  feel 
the  cold  December  wind  in  her  face.  The  thought  of 
Mark  was  always  with  her,  poor  Mark!  so  much  more  in 
her  heart  dead  than  living!  But  to-day  his  memory 
seemed  only  a  part  of  the  tender  past;  it  was  toward  the 
future  that  her  heart  turned;  she  felt  young  and  strong 
and  full  of  hope. 

In  the  new  year  Jim  began  to  come  pretty  regularly  to 
the  settlement  house.  Sometimes  he  stayed  but  for  two 
minutes,  never  for  more  than  ten,  and  usually,  even  if 
Julia  was  out,  he  left  some  little  gift  for  her,  a  book  or  a 
magazine,  flower  seeds,  or  violets,  or  a  box  of  candy. 
She  would  glance  up  from  the  soiled  and  rumpled  sewing 
of  some  small  girl  to  find  Jim  smiling  at  her  from  the 
stage  door,  or  come  back  from  her  little  shopping  round 
and  have  a  moment's  chat  with  him  on  the  steps.  She 
grew  more  and  more  silent,  more  and  more  self-con 
tained,  but  her  beauty  deepened  daily,  and  her  eyes 
shone  like  blue  stars. 

"God,  I  will  not  believe  it — I  cannot  believe  it!"  said 
Julia,  on  her  knees,  at  night,  her  hands  pressed  tight 
against  her  eyes.  "But  I  think  he  is  beginning  to  love 
me!"  And  she  walked  in  a  strange  dazzle  of  happiness, 
rejoicing  in  every  sunny  morning  that,  with  its  warmth 
and  blueness  and  distant  soft  whistles  from  the  bay, 
seemed  to  promise  the  spring,  and  rejoicing  no  less  when 
rain  beat  against  the  windows  of  The  Alexander,  and  the 
children  rushed  in  upon  her  at  three  o'clock  with  rain 
drops  in  their  hair  and  on  their  glowing  cheeks.  The 
convent  garden,  in  the  February  mornings,  the  assem 
bly  room,  with  late  uncertain  sunlight  checking  its  floor 
in  the  long  afternoons,  the  Colonial  restaurant  filled  with 
lights  and  the  odours  of  food  at  night,  all  these  familiar 
things  seemed  strangely  new  and  thrilling,  and  the  arrival 
of  the  postman  was,  twice  a  day,  a  heart-shaking  event. 

In  April  Doctor  Toland  went  on  a  fortnight's  trip  to 


184  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Mexico,  and  took  his  third  daughter  with  him,  in  the 
undisguised  hope  of  winning  some  small  share  of  her 
confidence,  and  convincing  her  of  his  own  disinterested 
affection.  Two  days  later  Barbara  telephoned  her 
aunt  the  harrowing  news  of  Sally's  elopement  with 
Keith  Borroughs,  and  Miss  Toland  went  at  once  to 
Sausalito,  taking  Julia  along. 

They  found  the  big  house  full  of  excitement.  Richie 
was  with  his  mother,  who  had  retired  to  her  room  and 
was  tearful  and  hysterical;  Ned  and  his  wife  had  gone 
back  after  Christmas  to  the  country  town,  where  he 
held  a  small  position  under  his  father-in-law;  and  Jim 
was  doing  both  his  own  work  and  that  of  his  foster 
father  for  the  time  being,  and  could  not  be  found  by 
telephone;  so  Julia  was  received  by  Barbara  and  the 
two  younger  girls,  who  were  not  inclined  to  make  light 
of  the  event. 

"Four  years  younger  than  Sally!"  said  Constance, 
not  for  the  first  time. 

"It's  not  that,"  Barbara  contributed  disgustedly. 
"But  he's  only  nineteen — not  of  age,  even!  And  he 
hasn't  one  single  penny!  Why,  Mrs.  Carter  was  think 
ing  of  sending  him  abroad  for  two  years'  work  with  his 
music.  I  see  her  doing  it  now!  Little  sloppy-haired, 
conceited  idiot,  that's  what  he  is!" 

"And  Richie  says  he'll  have  to  have  his  mother's 
consent  before  he  can  marry  her,"  said  Jane  with  a 
virtuous  air. 

"It's  too  disgusting!"  Barbara  added,  giving  Jane  a 
sharp  glance.  "And  you  oughtn't  talk  that  way, 
Jane;  it  doesn't  sound  very  well  in  a  girl  your  age  to  talk 
about  any  one's  having  to  marry  any  one!" 

"I  know  this,"  said  Constance  gloomily.  "It's  going 
to  give  this  family  a  horrible  black  eye.  A  fine  chance 
we'll  have  to  marry,  we  younger  ones,  with  Sally  dis 
gracing  every  one  this  way!"  Constance  was  the 
handsomest  of  all  the  Tolands,  and  felt  keenly  the  dis 
advantages  of  being  the  youngest  of  four  unmarried 
sisters. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  185 

"Don't  worry  about  your  marriage  until  it  comes 
along,  Con/'  said  Barbara  wearily. 

"Ill  bet  I  marry  before  you  do!"  said  Constance, 
without  venom. 

"I  long  ago  made  up  my  mind  never  to  marry  at  all," 
Barbara  said,  with  a  bored  air.  Julia  chuckled. 

"It  is  so  funny  to  hear  you  go  at  each  other,"  she 
explained.  "It  sounds  so  cross — and  it  really  isn't  at 
all!  Don't  worry,  Miss  Toland,"  she  added  soothingly, 
"Miss  Sally  wouldn't  marry  him  if  she  didn't  love 
him "  ' 

"Oh,  she  loves  him  fast  enough!"  Barbara  admitted, 
consoled. 

"And  if  people  love  each  other,  it's  all  right,"  Julia 
went  on.  Barbara  sighed. 

"Oh,  I  hope  it  is,  Julia!"  said  she,  as  conscious  of 
the  little  familiarity  for  all  her  abstracted  air  as  Julia 
was,  and  suspecting  that  it  thrilled  Julia,  as  indeed  it 
did. 

"And  it's  all  the  result  of  idleness,  that's  what  it  is, 
and  that's  what  I've  been  telling  your  mother,"  said 
Miss  Toland,  coming  in.  "You've  all  got  nothing  to 
do  except  sit  about  and  think  how  bored  you  are!" 

"Oh,  Auntie,  aren't  you  low?"  Barbara  said  tran 
quilly,  going  to  take  an  arm  of  her  chair.  "All  sorts  of 
people  elope — there's  nothing  so  disgraceful  in  that." 

"It's  disgraceful  considering  what  a  father  you've 
got,  and  what  a  mother!"  Miss  Toland  said  vexatiously. 
"And  Ted  worrying  your  father  to  death  about  that 
scamp,  too!  I  declare  it's  too  much!" 

"He's  a  pretty  rich  scamp,  and  a  pretty  attractive 
scamp,"  Barbara  said  in  defence  of  Theodora's  choice.'* 
"He's  not  like  that  kid  of  a  Keith!" 

Julia  heard  the  garden  gate  slam,  and  a  quick,  spring 
ing  step  on  the  porch  before  the  others  did,  but  it  was 
Jane  who  said,  "Here's  Jim!"  and  Barbara  who  went  to 
let  him  in. 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  have  you  heard  of  Sally?"  she  faltered, 
and  as  they  came  in  from  the  hall  Julia's  quick  eye 


186  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

saw  that  she  was  half  clinging  to  his  shoulder,  sister 
fashion,  and  that  his  arm  was  half  about  her. 

"Hello,  every  one!"  said  his  big,  reassuring  voice. 
"How's  Mother?  Hello,  Aunt  Sanna — and  Miss  Page, 
too!  Well,  this  is  fun,  isn't  it?  Yes,  Miss  Babbie, 
I've  heard  of  Sally,  Sally  Borroughs,  as  she  is  now " 

"What!  Married?"  said  every  one  at  once,  and  Mrs. 
Toland,  making  an  impressive  entrance  with  Richie, 
sank  into  a  deep  chair  and  echoed:  "Married?" 

"Married,  Mother  dear,"  said  Jim.  "They  found 
me  in  Dad's  office  at  five  o'clock;  Keith's  father,  a  fierce 
sort  of  man,  was  with  them,  and  was  for  calling  the 
whole  thing  off.  Sally  was  crying,  poor  girl,  and  Keith 
miserable — — " 

"Oh,  poor  old  Sally!"  said  Barbara's  tender  voice. 

"You  should  have  brought  her  straight  home  to  me!" 
Mrs.  Toland  added  severely. 

"Well,  so  I  thought  at  first.  But  they  had  their 
license,  which  would  be  in  the  morning  papers  anyway, 
and  Sally  had  done  the  fool  thing  of  mailing  letters  to 
two  girl  friends  when  she  left  here  this  morning " 

"She  left  me  a  mere  scribble,  pinned  to  her  pin 
cushion,"  said  her  mother,  magnificently.  "Just  as  any 
common  actress " 

"Oh,  Mother!  it  wasn't  pinned  to  her  cushion  at 
all!"  Barbara  protested.  "She  had  no  pincushion,  she 
has  a  pin  tray." 

"I  hardly  see  how  it  matters,  Babbie;  it  was  on  her 
bureau,  anyway!  Just  like  a  servant  girl!"  Mrs. 
Toland  persisted. 

"Well,  anyway,  it  seemed  best  to  push  it  right 
through,"  said  Jim,  "especially  as  they  persisted  that 
they  would  do  it  again  or  die — or  rather,  Sally  did!" 

"Oh,  Jim,  don't!"  wailed  Sally's  mother.  "Poor, 
deluded  child!" 

"I  don't  mean  that  Keith  wasn't  fiery  enough,"  Jim 
hastened  to  say.  "  He's  a  decent  enough  little  fellow,  and 
he's  madly  in  love.  So  we  all  went  up  to  the  French 
church,  and  Father  Marchand  married  them " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  187 

"A  child  of  mine!"  said  Mrs.  Toland,  stricken. 

"Keith's  father  and  I  witnessed,"  pursued  Jim,  "and 
we  both  kissed  the  bride " 

"Sally!  And  she  was  such  a  dear  sweet  baby!"  whis 
pered  Mrs.  Toland,  big  tears  beginning  to  run  down  her 
cheeks. 

"Ah,  Mother!"  Constance  said  soothingly,  at  her 
mother's  knees. 

"Sally's  of  age,  of  course,"  Jim  argued  soothingly, 
"and  one  couldn't  bring  her  home  like  a  child.  The 
thing  would  have  gotten  out,  and  she'd  have  been  a 
marked  girl  for  life!  There's  really  no  reason  why  they 
shouldn't  marry,  and  the  boy — Keith,  that  is,  put  her 
into  a  carriage  quite  charmingly,  and  they  drove  off. 
They'll  go  no  farther  than  Tamalpais  or  the  Hotel 
Rafael,  probably,  for  Keith  has  to  be  back  at  work 
on  Monday,  and  I  made  him  promise  to  bring  Sally 
here  on  Sunday  night." 

"And  what  will  they  live  on?"  Mrs.  Toland  asked 
stonily. 

"That  isn't  worrying  them.  Sally  has — what? 
From  those  bonds  of  her  grandfather's?" 

"Three  hundred  a  year,"  Mrs.  Toland  said  dis- 
couragingly. 

"And  Keith  gets  fifty-five  a  month.  That's  eighty 
— h'm!"  pursued  Jim. 

"Well,  some  of  us  simply  will  have  to  help  them," 
suggested  Mrs.  Toland,  with  a  swift,  innocent  glance 
at  Miss  Sanna. 

"His  father  will  have  to  help,"  Miss  Toland  count 
ered  firmly. 

They  presently  adjourned  to  the  dining-room,  all 
still  talking — even  Julia — of  Sally.  Sally  would  have 
to  take  the  Barnes  cottage,  at  fifteen  dollars  a  month, 
and  do  her  own  cooking,  and  her  own  sewing 

"They  can  dine  here  on  Sundays,"  said  Sally's 
mother,  sniffing  and  wiping  her  eyes. 

"And  wouldn't  it  be  awful  if  they  had  a  baby!"  Jane 
flung  out  casually. 


188  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Every  one  felt  the  indelicacy  of  this,  except  Julia, 
who  relieved  all  Jane's  hearers  by  saying  warmly: 

"Oh,  don't  say  awful!  Why,  you'd  all  go  wild  over 
a  dear  little  baby!" 

Doctor  Studdiford  gave  her  a  curious  look  at  this, 
and  though  Julia  did  not  see  it,  Barbara  did.  After 
dinner  the  doctor  and  Barbara  played  whist  with  the 
older  ladies,  and  Julia  sat  looking  over  their  shoulders 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  went  upstairs  with  Con 
stance  and  Jane  for  a  long,  delightful  gossip.  The 
girls  must  show  her  various  pictures  of  Keith  and 
Sally,  books  full  of  kodak  prints,  and  everywhere  Julia 
saw  Jim,  too:  Jim  from  the  days  of  little  boyhood  on 
to  to-day,  Jim  as  camp  cook,  Jim  as  tennis  champion, 
Jim  riding,  yachting,  fishing;  a  younger  Jim,  in  the 
East  at  college,  a  small,  stocky,  unrecognizable  Jim,  in 
short  trousers  and  straw  hat.  And  everywhere,  with 
him,  Barbara. 

"That's  when  they  gave  a  play — I  was  only  five," 
Constance  said.  "See,  this  is  Jim  as  Jack  Horner,  and 
Babbie  as  Mother  Goose.  And  look!  here's  Jim  on  a 
pony — that's  at  his  grandfather's  place  in  Honolulu. 
He  stayed  there  a  month  every  year,  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  and  Mother  and  Barbara  visited  there  once. 
Here  we  all  are,  swimming,  at  Tahoe.  And  here's 
Bab  in  the  dress  she  wore  at  her  coming-out  tea — isn't 
it  dear?  And  look!  here  she  is  in  an  old  dress  of  Jim's 
mother,  and  see  the  old  pearls;  aren't  they  lovely?  Jim 
gave  them  to  her  when  she  was  twenty." 

"Jim  was  crazy  about  her  then,"  said  Jane. 
I  don't  think  he  was,"  Constance  said  perversely. 

"Oh,  Con,  you  know  he  was!"  Jane  protested.  "He 
was,  too,"  she  added,  to  Julia. 

"/  don't  think  he  was,"  persisted  Constance  lightly. 

Barbara  came  in  a  second  later,  and  again  the  talk 
went  back  to  Sally. 

"Mother  and  Aunt  Sanna  said  good-night,"  re 
ported  Barbara,  "and  Aunt  Sanna  said  to  leave  the 
door  between  your  rooms  open,  and — oh,  yes,  Doctor 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  189 

Studdiford  has  been  teasing  Aunt  Sanna  to  stay  for  a 
few  days,  Miss  Page;  he  says  you  look  as  pale  as  a  little 
ghost!" 

"I  liked  so  much  to  have  you  call  me  Julia,"  was 
Julia's  extremely  tactful  answer  to  this.  Barbara,  per 
haps  glad  to  find  her  message  so  casually  dismissed, 
smiled  her  prettiest. 

" Julia — then!"  and  Barbara  sat  down  on  a  bed,  and 
began  to  roll  up  her  belt.  "Aunt  Sanna  says  she  gives 
Sally  and  Keith  about  three  months "  she  began. 

Two  days  later,  on  Sunday,  the  bride  and  groom  came 
home.  Sally,  who  looked  particularly  well  and  was 
quite  unashamed,  rushed  into  her  mother's  arms,  and 
laughed  and  cried  like  a  creature  possessed.  She  kissed 
all  her  sisters,  and  if  there  was  a  note  of  disapproval  in 
her  welcome,  she  did  not  get  it.  Richie  having  chari 
tably  carried  off  the  somewhat  sullen  young  husband, 
the  bride  was  presently  free  to  open  her  heart  to  the 
women  of  the  house. 

"It's  all  so  different  when  you're  married,  isn't  it, 
Mother?"  bubbled  Sally.  "Going  into  hotels  and 
everything — you  don't  care  who  looks  at  you,  you  know 
you've  a  perfect  right  to  go  anywhere  with  your  hus 
band!  Now,  that  look  that  Keith  just  gave  me,  as  he 
went  off  with  Richie — blazing!  Well,  it  would  just 
have  amused  me  when  we  were  engaged,  but  now  I 
know  that  he's  simply  wretched  with  jealousy,  and  I'll 
have  to  pet  him  a  little  and  quiet  him  down!  He  is  a 
perfect  child  about  money;  he  will  spend  too  much  on 
everything,  and  if  we  go  abroad  I'll  simply  have 

"Go  abroad?"  every  one  echoed. 

"Oh,  I  think  we  must,  for  Keith's  music,"  Sally  said 
gravely.  "He  can't  settle  down  here,  you  know.  He's 
got  to  live  abroad,  and  he's  got  to  have  lessons — expen 
sive  lessons.  Office  work  makes  him  too  nervous, 


anyway." 


'Well,   my  dear,   I   hope  you  have  money  enough 


190  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

to  carry  out  these  pleasing  plans,"  said  Miss  Toland 
dryly. 

"Well,  we  have  my  twenty-five  a  month,"  Sally  said 
capably,  "and  Keith's  father  ought  to  give  him  another 
twenty-five,  because  the  expense  of  having  Keith  live  at 
home  will  be  gone,  and" — Sally  fixed  a  hopeful  eye  on 
her  mother — "and  I  should  think  Dad  would  give  me  at 
least  that,  Mother,"  said  she.  "I  must  cost  him  much 
more  than  that!" 

"Oh,  I — don't — know!"  said  Mrs.  Toland  guardedly, 
taken  unawares,  and  slowly  shaking  her  head. 

"  Then  I  thought,"  pursued  the  practical  Sally, "  that  if 
you  would  give  me  half  the  clothes  of  a  regular  trousseau, 
and  if  Dad  would  give  us  our  travelling  expenses  to 
Berlin  for  a  wedding  present — why,  there  you  are!" 

"But  you  two  couldn't  live  on  seventy-five  dollars  a 
month,  Sally!" 

"Oh,  Mother,  Jeannette  said  you  could  get  a  lovely 
room  for  two — in  a  pension — for  a  dollar  a  day!  And 
that  leaves  forty  for  lessons,  two  a  week,  and  five  dollars 
over!" 

"For  laundry  and  carfare  and  doctor's  bills,"  said 
Miss  Toland  unsympathetically. 

"Well!"  Sally  flared,  resentful  colour  in  her  cheeks. 

"And  Dad  will  never  consent  to  anything  so  out 
rageously  unfair  as  living  on  thirty-five  and  spending 
forty  for  lessons!"  said  Barbara. 

Poor  little  Sally  looked  somewhat  crushed. 

"For  heaven's  sake  don't  let  Keith  hear  you  say 
that,  Babbie!"  she  said  nervously.  "It  makes  him 
frantic  to  suggest  that  you  can  get  decent  lessons  in 
harmony  for  nothing!  I  don't  know  what  you  know 
about  it,  anyway.  I'll  fix  it  with  Dad!" 

"If  Dad  allows  Sally  so  much,  he  ought  to  do  the 
same  for  the  rest  of  us,"  Constance  suggested.  Julia, 
foreseeing  a  scene,  slipped  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  hallway  she  encountered  Doctor  Studdiford, 
who  was  just  downstairs  after  a  late  sleep.  Jim  had  the 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  191 

satisfied  air  of  a  man  who  has  had  a  long  rest,  a  shave 
and  a  bath,  and  a  satisfactory  breakfast. 

"Family  conference?"  he  said,  nodding  toward  the 
sitting-room  door. 

"Sally  and  Keith  are  here,"  Julia  announced. 

"Oh,  are  they?  Well,  I  ought  to  go  in.  But  I  also 
ought  to  walk  up  to  the  Ridge,  and  see  that  poor  fellow 
who  ran  a  shaft  into  his  leg."  Jim  hesitated.  "I 
suppose  you  wouldn't  like  to  go  with  me?"  he  asked, 
with  his  sudden  smile.  Julia's  heart  jumped;  her  eyes 
answered  him.  "Well,  wrap  up  snug,"  said  Jim,  "for 
there's  the  very  deuce  of  a  wind ! " 

So  Julia  tied  herself  into  the  most  demure  of  hats,  and 
buttoned  her  long  coat  about  her,  and  Jim  shook  himself 
into  his  heaviest  overcoat,  and  pulled  an  old  cap  down 
over  his  eyes.  They  let  themselves  out  at  a  side  door, 
and  a  gust  of  wet  wind  howled  down  upon  them,  and 
shook  a  shower  from  the  madly  rippling  ivy  leaves.  The 
sky  was  high  and  pale,  and  crossed  by  hurrying  and 
scattered  clouds;  a  clean,  roaring  gale  tore  over  the  hills, 
and  ruffled  the  rain  pools  in  the  road,  and  bowed  the 
trees  like  whips.  The  bay  was  iron  colour;  choppy 
waves  chased  each  other  against  the  piers.  Now  and 
then  a  pale  flicker  of  sunlight  brightened  the  whole 
scene  with  blues  and  greens  and  shadows  spectacularly 
clear;  then  the  clouds  met  again,  and  the  wind  sang  like  a 
snapped  wire. 

Julia  and  the  doctor  climbed  the  long  flights  of  stairs 
that  cut  straight  up  through  the  scattered  homes  on  the 
hill.  These  earthen  steps  were  still  running  with  the 
late  rain,  and  moss  lay  on  them  like  a  green  film.  Julia 
breathed  hard,  a  veil  of  blown  hair  crossed  her  bright 
eyes,  her  stinging  cheeks  glowed. 

"I  love  this  kind  of  a  day!"  she  shouted.  Jim's 
gloved  hand  helped  her  to  cross  a  wide  pool,  and  his 
handsome  eyes  were  full  of  all  delight  as  he  shouted 
back. 

Presently,  when  they  were  in  a  more  quiet  bit  of  road, 
he  told  her  of  some  of  his  early  boyish  walks.  "Listen, 


192  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Julia!"  he  said,  catching  her  arm.  "D'you  hear  them? 
It's  the  peepers !  We  used  to  call  them  that,  little  frogs, 
you  know — sure  sign  of  the  spring!" 

And  as  the  wind  lulled  Julia  heard  the  brave  little 
voices  of  a  hundred  tiny  croakers  in  some  wet  bit  of 
meadow.  "We'll  have  buttercups  next  week ! "  said  Jim. 

He  told  her  something  of  the  sick  man  to  whom  they 
were  going,  and  spoke  of  other  cases,  of  his  work  and  his 
hopes. 

"Poor  Kearney!"  said  Jim,  "his  oldest  kid  was  sick, 
then  his  wife  had  a  new  baby,  and  now  this !  You'll  like 
the  baby — he's  a  nice  little  kid.  I  took  him  in  my  arms 
last  time  I  was  here,  and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the 
little  lip  curl  up,  but  he  wouldn't  cry!  A  kid  two 
months  old  can  be  awfully  cunning ! "  He  looked  a  little 
ashamed  of  this  sentiment,  but  Julia  thought  she  had 
never  seen  anything  so  bright  and  simple  and  lovable  as 
the  smile  with  which  he  asked  her  sympathy. 

She  was  presently  mothering  the  baby,  in  the 
Kearneys'  little  hot  living-room,  while  Doctor  Studdi- 
ford  caused  the  patient  in  the  room  beyond  to  shout  with 
pain.  The  howling  wind  had  a  sinister  sound,  heard  up 
here  within  walls,  and  Julia  was  glad  to  be  out  in  it,  and 
going  down  the  hills  again. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  sick  calls?"  asked  Jim. 

"I  was  glad  not  to  have  to  see  him,"  Julia  confessed. 
"But  it  is  a  darling  baby,  and  such  a  nice  little  wife! 
She  has  a  sister  who  comes  up  every  afternoon,  so  she 
can  get  some  sleep,  poor  thing.  His  mother  is  going  to 
pay  their  rent  until  he  gets  well,  and  he  gets  two  dol 
lars  a  week  from  his  union.  But  she  said  that  if  you 
hadn't- 

"Well,  you  know  now,  for  such  a  quiet  little  mouse 
of  a  girl,  Julia,  you  are  a  pretty  good  confidence  woman!" 

"And  the  baby's  to  be  named  for  you!"  Julia  ended 
triumphantly. 

"Lord,  they  needn't  have  done  that!"  said  the  doctor, 
with  his  confused,  boyish  flush.  "Look,  Julia,  how  the 
tide  has  carried  that  ferryboat  out  of  her  course!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  193 

Julia's  heart  flew  with  the  winds;  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
never  known  such  an  hour  of  ecstasy  before.  They  had 
crossed  the  upper  road,  and  were  halfway  down  the  last 
flight  of  steps,  when  Jim  suddenly  caught  her  hand,  and 
turned  her  about  to  face  him.  Dripping  trees  shut  in 
this  particular  landing,  and  they  were  alone  under  the 
wind-swept  sky.  Jim  put  his  arms  about  her,  and  Julia 
raised  her  face,  with  all  a  child's  serene  docility,  for  his 
kiss. 

"Do  you  love  me,  Julie?"  said  Jim  urgently,  then. 
"Do  you  love  me,  little  girl?  Because  I  love  you  so 
much!" 

Not  the  words  he  had  so  carefully  chosen  to  say,  but 
he  said  them  a  score  of  times.  If  Julia  answered,  it  was 
only  with  a  confused  murmur,  but  she  clung  to  him,  and 
her  luminous  eyes  never  moved  from  his  own. 

"Oh,  my  God,  I  love  you  so!"  Jim  said,  finally 
releasing  her,  only  to  catch  her  in  his  arms  again. 
"Won't  you  say  it  once,  Julia,  just  to  let  me  hear  you?" 

"  But  I  did  say  it,"  Julia  said,  dimpling  and  rosy. 

"Oh,  but  darling,  you  don't  know  how  hungry  I  am  to 
hear  you!" 

"How — how  could  I  help  it?"  Julia  stammered;  and 
now  the  blue  eyes  she  raised  were  misty  with  tears. 

Jim  found  this  satisfactory,  intoxicatingly  so.  They 
went  a  few  steps  farther  and  sat  on  a  bit  of  dry  bulk- 
heading,  and  began  to  discuss  the  miracle.  About 
them  the  winds  of  spring  shouted  their  eternal  promise, 
and  in  their  hearts  the  promise  that  is  as  new  and  as  old 
as  spring  came  to  dazzling  flower. 

"My  clever,  sweet,  little  dignified  girl!"  said  Jim. 
"Julia,  do  you  know  that  you  are  the  most  fascinating 
woman  in  the  world  ?  I  never  saw  any  one  like  you ! " 

"I Oh,  Jim!"  was  all  that  Julia  said,  but  her 

dimples  and  the  nearness  of  the  blue  eyes  helped  the 
stammered  words. 

"Among  all  the  chattering,  vapid  girls  I  know," 
pursued  Jim,  "you  stand  utterly  alone,  you  with  your 
ambitions,  ana  your  wiseness!  By  George!  when  I 


194  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

think  what  you  have  made  of  yourself,  I  could  get  down 
and  worship  you.  I  feel  like  a  big  spoiled  kid  beside 
you!  I've  always  had  all  the  money  I  could  spend,  and 
you,  you  game  little  thing,  you've  grubbed  and  worked 
and  made  things  do!" 

"I  never  had  any  ambition  as  high  as  marrying  you," 
Julia  said,  with  the  mysterious  little  smile  that  at  once 
baffled  and  enchanted  him.  "When  I  think  of  it,  it 
makes  me  feel  giddy,  like  a  person  walking  in  a  valley 
who  found  himself  set  down  on  top  of  a  mountain!  I 
never  thought  of  marriage  at  all!" 

"But  you  are  going  to  marry  me,  sweet,  aren't  you?" 
Jim  asked  anxiously.  "And  you  are  happy,  dear?  For 
I  feel  as  if  I  would  die  of  joy  and  pride ! " 

"Oh,  I'm  happy!"  Julia  said,  and  instantly  her  lip 
quivered,  and  her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears.  She  jumped 
to  her  feet,  and  caught  him  by  the  hand.  "Come  on!" 
she  said.  "We  mustn't  be  so  long!" 

"But  darling,"  said  Jim,  infinitely  tender,  "why  the 
tears?" 

For  answer  she  caught  his  coat  in  her  shabbily 
gloved  little  hands. 

"Because  I  love  you  so,  Jim,"  she  faltered,  trying  to 
smile.  "You  don't  know  how  much!"  Her  voice  had 
dropped  to  a  whisper,  and  for  a  moment  her  eyes  looked 
far  beyond  him,  down  into  the  valley,  and  at  the  iron- 
cold  bay  with  its  racing  whitecaps.  Then  she  took  his 
hand,  and  they  began  to  descend  the  steps. 

"I  may  tell  my  mother,  Julie?"  Jim  asked  joyously. 
"And  Aunt  Sanna  ?  And  do  you  know  that  Julia  is  one 
of  my  favourite  names " 

"No,  I  want  you  not  to  tell  any  one,"  Julia  decided 
quickly.  "You  must  promise  me  that.  Nobody." 
Something  in  her  tone  surprised,  a  little  chilled,  him. 

" Julie— but  why?" 

"Well,  because  we  want  to  be  sure " 

"Oh,  sure!     Why,  but,  dearest,  arent  you- 


No,  but  wait  a  moment,"  Julia  interrupted,  and 
Jim,  turning  toward  her,  saw  a  real  trouble  reflected  in 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  195 

her  face.  "  I  want  you  to  meet  my  mother,  and  my  own 
people,"  she  said,  scarlet  cheeked.  Jim's  grave,  com 
prehensive  look  met  hers. 

"And  I  want  to,  dear,"  he  said.  And  then,  as  her 
face  did  not  brighten:  "Why,  my  dearest,  you  aren't 
going  to  worry  because  your  people  aren't  in  the  Social 
Register,  and  don't  go  to  the  Brownings'  ?  I  know  all 
sorts  of  people,  Ju — Kearney,  up  there,  is  a  good  friend 
of  mine!  And  I  know  from  Aunt  Sanna  that  you're  a 
long  way  ahead  of  your  own  people." 

"I  don't  know  whether  it's  'ahead'  or  not,"  said 
Julia,  with  a  worried  laugh.  "I  suppose  only  God 
knows  the  real  value  of  finger  bowls  and  toothbrushes 
and  silk  stockings!  I  suppose  it's  'ahead'! 

She  opened  the  Tolands'  side  gate  as  she  spoke,  and 
they  went  into  the  bare  garden. 

"Well— but  don't  go  in,"  pleaded  Jim,  "there'll  be  a 
mob  about  us  in  no  time,  and  I've  never  had  you  to  my 
self  before!  When  may  I  come  see  your  people?" 

"Will  you  write?"  Julia  asked  at  the  side  door. 

"Oh,  but  darling,  when  we've  just  begun  to  talk!" 
fretted  Jim.  "Would  you  dare  to  kiss  me  right  here — 
no  one  could  possibly  see  us!' 

"I  would  not!"  And  Julia  flashed  him  one  laughing 
look  as  she  opened  the  door.  A  moment  later  he  heard 
her  running  up  the  stairway. 

Julia  found  Miss  Toland  upstairs,  hastily  packing. 
"Well,  runaway!"  said  the  older  lady.  And  then,  in 
explanation,  "I  think  we'd  best  go,  Julia,  for  my  brother 
and  Teddy  have  just  got  home,  and  there'll  have  to 
be  a  great  family  council  to-night." 

"Would  you  stay  if  I  went?"  Julia  asked,  coming 
close  to  her. 

"No,  you  muggins!  I'd  pack  you  off  in  a  moment  if 
that  was  what  I  meant !  No,  I'm  glad  enough  to  get  out 
of  it!"  Miss  Toland  stood  up.  "What's  Jim  Studdw- 
ford  been  saying  to  you  to  give  you  cheeks  like  that?" 
she  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  Julia  whispered,  with  a  tremulous 


196  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

laugh.  And  for  the  first  time  she  went  into  Miss 
Toland's  open  arms,  and  hid  her  face,  and  for  the  first 
time  they  kissed  each  other. 

"Anything  settled  ? "  the  older  woman  presently  asked 
in  great  satisfaction. 

"Not — quite!"  Julia  said. 

"Not  quite!  Well,  that's  right;  there's  no  need  of 
hurry.  Oh,  law  me!  I've  seen  this  coming,"  Miss 
Toland  assured  her;  "he  all  but  told  me  himself  a  week 
ago !  Well,  well,  well !  And  it  only  goes  to  show,  Julia," 
she  added,  shaking  a  skirt  before  she  rolled  it  into  a  ball 
and  laid  it  in  her  suitcase,  "that  if  you  give  a  girl  an 
occupation,  she's  better  off,  she's  more  useful,  and 
it  doesn't  keep  her  fate  from  finding  her  out!  You 
laugh,  because  you've  heard  me  say  this  before,  but  it's 
true!" 

Julia  had  laughed  indeed;  her  heart  was  singing.  She 
would  have  laughed  at  anything  to-day. 

Four  days  later,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
Doctor  Studdiford  called  at  The  Alexander,  and  Miss 
Page  joined  him,  in  street  attire,  at  once.  They  walked 
away  to  the  car  together,  in  a  street  suddenly  flooded 
with  golden  sunshine. 

"Did  you  tell  your  mother  I  was  coming,  dear?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  of  course!  I  never  would  dare  take  them 
unawares!" 

"And  did  you  tell  her  that  you  were  going  to  be  my 
adored  and  beautiful  little  wife  in  a  few  months  ? " 

"In  a  few  months — hear  the  man!  In  a  few  years! 
No,  but  I  gave  them  to  understand  that  you  were  my 
'friend.'  I  didn't  mention  that  you  are  a  multi 
millionaire  and  a  genius  on  leg  bones " 

"Julia,  my  poor  girl,  if  you  think  you  are  marrying  a 
multi-millionaire,  disabuse  your  mind,  dear  child! 
Aren't  women  mercenary,  though!  Here  I  thought 

I No,  but  seriously,  darling,  why  shouldn't  your 

mother  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  your 
future  is  pretty  safe  ? " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  197 

"Well,  that's  hard  to  say,  Jim.  But  I  think  you  will 
like  her  better  if  she  takes  it  for  granted  that  you  are 
just — well,  say  just  the  sort  of  doctor  we  might  have 
called  in  to  the  settlement  house,  establishing  a  prac 
tice,  but  quite  able  to  marry.  I  feel,"  said  Julia,  finding 
her  words  with  a  little  difficulty,  "that  my  mother 
might  hurt  my  feelings — by  doubting  my  motives, 
otherwise — and  if  she  hurt  my  feelings  she  would  anger 
you,  wouldn't  she?" 

"She  certainly  would!"  Jim  smiled,  but  the  look  he 
gave  his  plucky  little  companion  was  far  removed  from 
mirth. 

"And  I  do  dread  this  call,"  Julia  said  nervously.  "I 
came  down  here  yesterday,  just  to  say  we  were  coming, 

and  it  all  struck  me  as  being However,  there's  the 

house,  and  you'll  soon  see  for  yourself!" 

The  house  itself  was  something  of  a  shock  to  Jim,  but 
if  Julia  guessed  it,  he  gave  her  no  evidence  of  his  feeling, 
and  was  presently  taken  into  the  stifling  parlour,  and 
introduced  to  Julia's  mother,  a  little  gray  now,  but 
hard  lipped  and  bright  eyed  as  ever,  and  to  Mrs.  Cox, 
who  had  been  widowed  for  some  years,  and  was  a  genial, 
toothless,  talkative  old  woman,  much  increased  in  her 
own  esteem  and  her  children's  as  the  actual  owner  of  the 
old  house. 

"Mother,  we  want  some  air  in  here!"  Julia  said,  go 
ing  to  a  window. 

"Julia's  a  great  girl  for  fresh  air,"  said  Emeline.  "Sit 
down,  Doctor,  and  don't  mind  Ma!"  Mrs.  Cox,  per 
haps  slightly  self-conscious,  was  wandering  about  the 
room  picking  threads  from  the  carpet,  straightening  the 
pictures  on  the  walls,  and  dubiously  poking  a  small 
stopped  clock  on  the  mantel. 

"How's  your  arm  to-day?"  Julia  asked,  stopping 
behind  her  mother's  chair,  and  laying  two  firm  young 
hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"What  do  you  think  of  a  girl  that  runs  off  and 
doesn't  see  her  mother  for  weeks  at  a  time,  Doctor?" 
Mrs.  Page  demanded  a  little  tartly.  "Her  papa  and  I 


198  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

was  devoted  to  her,  too!  But  I  suppose  if  she  marries, 
she'll  be  too  grand  for  us  altogether!" 

"Now,  Mother!"  said  Julia  pleadingly,  half  vexed, 
half  indulgent. 

"I  had  an  elegant  little  place  myself  when  I  was  first 
married,"  Mrs.  Page  continued,  in  a  sort  of  discon 
tented  sing-song.  "Julia  must  have  told  you  about  her 
papa " 

Julia's  serious  eyes  flashed  a  look  to  Jim,  and  he  saw 
something  almost  like  humour  in  their  blue  deeps. 

"That's  a  crayon  enlargement  of  my  youngest  son," 
the  old  woman  was  presently  saying,  "Chess.  A  bet 
ter  boy  never  lived,  but  he  got  in  with  bad  companions 
and  they  got  him  in  jail.  Yes,  indeed  they  did!  On'y 
the  governor  let  him  out  again " 

The  call  was  not  long.  Doctor  Studdiford  shook 
hands  with  both  the  ladies,  in  departing,  and  Julia 
kissed  her  mother  and  grandmother  dutifully.  The 
two  walked  almost  in  silence  to  the  car. 

"Downtown?"  asked  Julia,  in  surprise. 

"Downtown,  for  tea,"  Jim  said.  And  when  they 
were  comfortably  established  in  a  secluded  corner  of 
the  Golden  Pheasant,  he  expelled  a  long  breath  from 
his  lungs,  and  sent  Julia  his  sunniest  smile  as  he  said: 

"Well,  you're  a  wonder!" 

"I?"  Julia  touched  her  heart  with  her  fingers,  and 
raised  her  eyebrows. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are!"  Jim  repeated.  "You're  a  little 
wonder!  To  make  yourself  so  sweet  and  fine  and  dear, 
it  shows  that  you're  one  of  the  big  people  of  the  world, 
Julie!  Some  one  of  the  writers,  Emerson  I  guess  it 
was,  says  that  when  you  find  a  young  person  who  is 
willing  to  accept  the  wisdom  of  older  people,  and  abide 
by  it,  why,  you  may  watch  that  young  person  for  great 
things.  And  you  see,  I  propose  to!" 

Julia  had  no  answering  smile  ready.  Instead  her 
face  was  very  grave  as  she  said  musingly: 

"I  hardly  know  why  I  wanted  you  to  meet  my  mother 
and  grandmother,  Jim.  I  don't  know  quite  what  I  ex- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  199 

pected  when  you  did  meet  them,  but — but  you  mustn't 
make  light  of  the  fact  that  they  are  different  from  your 
people,  and  different  from  me,  too.  For  three  or  four 
days  and  nights  now  I've  been  thinking  about — us. 
I've  been  wondering  whether  this  engagement  would 
be  a — a  happy  thing  for  you,  Jim.  I've  wondered— 

"But,  sweetheart!"  he  interrupted  eagerly,  "I  love 
you!  You're  the  only  woman  I  ever  wanted  to  marry! 
I  love  you  just  because  you  are  different,  you  are  so  much 
wiser  and  deeper  and  truer  than  any  other  girl  I  ever 
knew,  and  if  your  people  and  your  life  have  made  you 
that,  why  I  love  them,  too!  And  you  do  love  me, 
Julie?" 

Julia  raised  heavy  eyes,  and  he  could  see  that  tears 
were  pressing  close  behind  them.  She  did  not  speak, 
but  her  look  suddenly  enveloped  him  like  a  cloud.  Jim 
felt  a  sudden  prick  of  tears  behind  his  own  eyes. 

"Sweetness,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  know  you  love  me! 
And  Julia,  my  whole  soul  is  simply  on  fire  for  you. 
Don't — don't  let  any  mere  trifle  come  between  us  now. 
Let  me  tell  my  mother  and  father  to-morrow!" 

A  clear  light  was  shining  in  Julia's  eyes.  Now,  as 
she  automatically  arranged  the  tea  things  before  her, 
and  poured  him  his  first  cup  of  tea,  she  said: 

"Jim,  I  told  you  that  I  haven't  thought  much  about 
marriage  for  myself.  I  suppose  it's  funny  that  I 
shouldn't,  for  they  say  most  girls  do!  But  perhaps  it 
was  because  the  biographies  and  histories  I  began  to 
read  when  I  came  to  the  settlement  house  were  all  about 
men:  how  Lincoln  rose,  how  Napoleon  rose,  how  this 
rich  man  sold  newspapers  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  and 
that  other  one  spent  his  first  money  in  taking  his  mother 
out  of  the  poorhouse.  And  of  course  marriage  doesn't 
enter  so  much  into  the  lives  of  men.  It  came  to  me 
years  ago  that  what  wise  men  are  trying  to  din  into  young 
people  everywhere  is  just  this:  that  if  you  make  your 
self  ready  for  anything,  that  thing  will  come  to  you. 
Just  do  your  end,  and  somewhere  out  in  the  queer,  big, 
incomprehensible  machinery  of  the  world  your  place 


200  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

will  mysteriously  begin  to  get  ready  for  you Am 

I  talking  sense,  Jim?" 

"Absolutely.     Go  on!"  said  Jim. 

"Well,  and  so  I  thought  that  if  I  took  years  and 
years  I  might — well,  you  won't  see  why,  but  I  wanted 
to  be  a  lady!"  confessed  Julia,  her  lips  smiling,  but  with 
serious  eyes.  "And,  Jim,  everything  comes  so  much 
more  easily  than  one  thinks.  Your  aunt  knew  I  wasn't, 
but  I  happened  to  be  what  she  needed,  and  I  kept 
quiet,  and  listened  and  learned!" 

"And  suppose  you  hadn't  happened  upon  the  settle 
ment  house?"  asked  Jim,  his  ardent  eyes  never  moving 
from  her  face. 

"Why,  I  would  have  done  it  somehow,  some  other 
way.  I  meant  to  take  a  position  in  some  family,  and 
perhaps  be  a  trained  nurse  when  I  was  older,  or  study 
to  be  a  librarian  and  take  the  City  Hall  examinations,  or 
work  up  to  a  post-office  position!  I  had  lots  of  plans, 
only  of  course  I  was  only  a  selfish  little  girl  then,  and  I 
thought  I  would  disappear,  and  never  let  my  own  peo 
ple  hear  from  me  again!" 

"But  you  softened  on  that  point,  eh?"  asked  Jim. 

"Oh,  right  away!"  Julia's  wonderful  eyes  shone 
upon  him  with  something  unearthly  in  their  light. 
"Because  God  decides  to  whom  we  shall  belong,  Jim," 
said  she,  with  childish  faith,  "and  to  start  wrong  with 
my  own  people  would  mean  that  I  was  all  wrong,  every 
where.  But  my  highest  ambition  then  was  to  grow,  as 
the  years  went  on,  to  be  useful  to  nice  people,  and  to  be 
liked  by  them.  I  never  dreamed  every  one  would  be  so 
friendly!  And  when  Miss  Pierce  and  Miss  Scott  have 
asked  me  to  their  homes,  and  when  Mrs.  Forbes  took 
me  to  Santa  Cruz,  and  Mrs.  Chetwynde  asked  me  to 
dine  with  them,  well,  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  meant!" 

"It  meant  that  you  are  as  good — and  better,  in  every 
way — than  all  the  rest  of  them  put  together!"  said  the 
prejudiced  Jim. 

"Oh,  Jim!"  Julia  looked  at  him  over  her  teacup,  a 
breach  of  manners  which  Jim  thought  very  charming. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  201 

"No,"  she  said,  presently,  pursuing  her  own  thoughts, 
"but  I  never  thought  of  marriage!  And  now  you  come 
along,  Jim,  so — so  good  to  me,  so  infinitely  dear,  and 

I  can't — I  can't  help  caring "  And  suddenly  her 

lip  trembled,  and  tears  filled  her  eyes.  She  looked 
down  at  her  teacup,  and  stirred  it  blindly. 

"You  angel!"  Jim  said. 

"  Don't — make — me — cry ! "  Julia  begged  thickly. 

A  second  later  she  looked  up  and  laughed  through  tears. 
"And  I  feel  like  a  person  who  has  been  skipped  over 
four  or  five  grades  at  school;  I  don't  know  whether  I 
can  be  a  rich  man's  wife!"  she  said  whimsically.  "I 
know  I  can  go  on  as  I  am,  reading  and  thinking,  and 
listening  to  other  people,  and  keeping  quiet  when  I 
have  nothing  to  say,  but — but  when  I  think  of  being 
Mrs.  James  Studdiford " 

"Oh,  I  love  to  hear  you  say  it ! "  Jim  leaned  across  the 
table,  and  put  one  warm  big  hand  over  hers.  "My 
darling  little  wife!" 

The  word  dyed  Julia's  cheeks  crimson,  and  for  the 
long  hour  that  they  lingered  over  their  tea  she  seemed 
to  Jim  more  charming  than  he  had  ever  found  her  be 
fore.  Her  gravity,  with  its  deep  hint  of  suppressed 
mirth,  and  her  mirth  that  was  always  so  delicate  and 
demure,  so  shot  with  sudden  pathos  and  seriousness, 
were  equally  exquisite;  and  her  beauty  won  all  eyes, 
from  the  old  waiter  who  hovered  over  their  happiness, 
to  the  little  baby  in  the  street  car  who  would  sit  in 
Julia's  lap  and  nowhere  else.  Jim  presently  left  Julia 
to  her  Girls'  Club,  consoling  himself  with  the  thought 
that  on  the  following  night  they  were  to  make  their 
first  trip  to  the  theatre  together. 

But  when,  at  half-past  seven  the  next  evening,  Jim 
presented  himself  at  the  settlement  house,  he  found  Julia 
alone,  and  obviously  not  dressed  for  the  theatre.  She 
admitted  him  with  a  kiss  that  to  his  lover's  enthusiasm 
was  strangely  cool,  and  drew  him  into  the  reception  hall. 

"Your  aunt  had  to  go  out  with  Miss  Parker,"  said 
Julia.  "  But  she'll  positively  be  here  a  little  after  eight." 


202  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"My  darling,  I  didn't  come  to  see  Aunt  Sanna!" 
Jim  caught  her  to  him.  "But,  sweetheart,"  he  said, 
"how  hot  your  face  is,  and  your  poor  little  hands  are 
icy!  Aren't  you  well?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I'm  very  well!"  Julia  admitted 
restlessly,  lighting  the  shaded  lamp  on  the  centre  table, 
and  snapping  off  the  side  lights  that  so  mercilessly  re 
vealed  her  pale  face  and  burning  eyes. 

"Not  well  enough  for  the  theatre?  Well,  but  darling, 
I  don't  care  one  snap  for  the  theatre,"  Jim  assured  her 
eagerly.  "Only  I  hate  to  see  you  so  nervous  and  tired. 
Has  it  been  a  hard  day?  Aunt  Sanna ?" 

"No,  your  aunt's  an  angel  to  me — no,  it's  been  an 
easy  day,"  Julia  said,  dropping  into  a  chair,  and  push 
ing  her  hair  back  from  her  face  with  a  feverish  gesture. 
A  second  later  she  sprang  up  and  disappeared  into  the 
assembly  hall.  "I  thought  I  mightn't  have  locked  the 
door,"  she  said,  returning. 

"Why,  sweetheart,"  Jim  said,  in  great  distress,  "what 
is  it  ?  You're  not  one  bit  like  yourself! " 

"No,  I  know  I'm  not,"  Julia  said  wildly.  She  sat 
down  again.  "I've  been  thinking  and  thinking  all  day, 
until  I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  crazy!"  she  said  with  a  des 
perate  gesture.  "And  it's  come  to  this,  Jim Don't 

think  I'm  excited — I  mean  it.  I — we  can't  be  mar 
ried,  Jim.  That's  all.  Don't — don't  look  so  amazed. 
People  break  engagements  all  the  time,  don't  they? 
And  we  aren't  really  engaged,  Jim;  nobody  knows  it. 
And — and  so  it's  all  right!" 

Anything  less  right  than  Julia's  ashen  face  and  blazing 
eyes,  and  the  touch  of  her  cold  wet  little  hands,  Jim 
thought  he  had  never  seen.  He  stepped  into  the  bath 
room,  and  ran  his  eye  along  the  trim  row  of  labelled 
bottles  on  the  shelf. 

"Here,  drink  this,  dear,"  he  said,  coming  back  to  her 
with  something  clear  and  pungent  in  a  glass.  "Now, 
come  here,"  and  half  lifting  the  little  figure  in  his  arms 
he  put  her  on  the  couch,  and  tucked  a  plaid  warmly 
about  her.  "Don't  forget  that  your  husband  is  also  a 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  203 

doctor,"  said  Jim,  sitting  down  so  that  he  could  see  her 
face,  and  hold  one  hand  in  both  of  his.  "  You're  all  worn 
out  and  excited,  and  no  wonder!  You  see,  most  girls 
take  out  their  excess  emotion  on  their  families,  but  my 
little  old  girl  is  too  much  alone!" 

Julia's  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  as  if  she  were  powerless 
to  draw  them  away.  It  was  sweet — it  was  poignantly 
sweet — to  be  cared  for  by  him,  to  feel  that  Jim's  warm 
heart  and  keen  mind  were  at  her  service,  that  the  swift 
smile  was  for  her,  the  ardour  in  his  eyes  was  all  her  own. 
For  perhaps  half  an  hour  she  rested,  almost  without 
speaking,  and  Jim  talked  to  her  with  studied  lightness 
and  carelessness.  Then  suddenly  she  sat  up,  and  put 
her  hands  to  her  loosened  hair. 

"I  must  look  wild,  Jim!" 

"You  look  like  a  ravishing  little  gipsy!  But  I  wish 
you  had  more  colour,  mouse!" 

"Am  I  pale?"  Julia  asked,  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 
Jim  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  her,  and  studied  her 
with  anxious  eyes,  and  she  pushed  the  hair  off  his  fore 
head,  and  rested  her  cheek  against  it  with  a  long  sigh  as 
if  she  were  very  tired. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  asked  Jim,  with  infinite  solicitude. 

"Well!"  Julia  put  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  kiss  on  his 
forehead,  then  got  abruptly  to  her  feet  and  crossed  the 
room,  as  if  she  found  his  nearness  suddenly  insufferable. 
"I  can't  break  my  engagement  to  you  this  way,  Jim," 
said  she.  "  For  even  if  I  told  you  a  thousand  times  thatj) 
I  had  stopped  loving  you" — a  spasm  of  pain  crossed  her 
face,  she  shut  her  hands  tightly  together  over  her  heart — 
"even  then  you  would  know  that  I  love  you  with  my 
whole  soul,"  she  said  in  a  whisper  with  shut  eyes.  "  But 
you  see,"  and  Julia  turned  a  pitiful  smile  upon  him, 
"you  see  there's  something  you  don't  understand,  Jim! 
You  say  I  have  climbed  up  alone,  from  being  a  tough 
little  would-be  actress,  who  lived  over  a  saloon  in 
O'Farrell  Street,  to  this!  You  say — and  your  aunt 
says — that  I  am  wise,  wise  to  see  what  is  worth  having, 
and  to  work  for  it!  But  has  it  never  occurred  to  one  of 


204  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

you "  Julia's  voice,  which  had  been  rising  steadily, 

sank  to  a  cold,  low  tone.  "No,"  she  said,  as  if  to  her 
self,  sitting  down  at  the  table,  and  resting  her  arms  upon 
it.  "No,  it  has  never  occurred  to  one  of  them  to  ask  why 
I  am  different — to  ask  just  what  made  me  so!  Life 
boils  itself  down  to  this,  doesn't  it  ? "  she  went  on,  staring 
drearily  at  the  shadowy  corner  of  the  room  beyond  her. 
"That  women  have  something  to  sell,  or  give  away,  and 
the  question  is  just  how  much  each  one  can  get  for  it! 
That's  what  makes  the  most  insignificant  married 
woman  feel  superior  to  the  happiest  and  richest  old 
maid.  She  says  to  herself,  'I've  made  my  market. 
Somebody  chose  me!'  That's  what  motherhood  and 
hpmemaking  rest  on:  the  whole  world  is  just  one  great 
big  question  of  sex,  spinning  away  in  space!  And  even 
after  a  woman  is  married,  she  still  plays  with  sex;  she 
likes  to  feel  that  men  admire  her,  doesn't  she?  At 
dinners  there  must  be  a  man  for  every  woman;  at 
dances  no  two  girls  must  dance  together!  And  here, 
the  minute  a  new  girl  comes  to  join  my  clubs,  I  try  to 
read  her  face.  Is  she  pure,  or  has  she  already  thrown 
away " 

"Julia,  dear!"  said  Jim,  amazed  and  troubled,  but  she 
silenced  him  with  a  quick  gesture.  Her  cheeks  were 
burning  now,  and  her  words  came  fast. 

"Those  poor  little  girls  at  St.  Anne's,"  she  said  fever 
ishly,  "they've  thrown  their  lives  away  because  this 
^thing  that  is  in  the  air  all  about  them  came  too  close, 
they  were  too  young  legally  to  be  trusted  as  Nature  has 
trusted  them  for  years!  They  heard  people  talk  of  it, 
and  laugh  about  it — it  didn't  seem  very  dangerous " 

"Julia!"  Jim  said  again,  pleadingly. 

"Just  one  moment,  Jim,  and  I'll  be  done!  When  they 
had  learned  their  lesson,  when  they  had  found  out  what 
sorrow  it  brought,  when  they  knew  that  there  was  only 
loss  and  shame  in  it  for  them — then  it  was  too  late! 
Then  men,  and  women,  too,  expected  them  to  go  on 
giving;  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  Oh,"  said  Julia,  in 
a  heartbreaking  voice,  bringing  her  locked  hands  down 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  205 

upon  the  table  as  if  she  were  in  physical  agony,  "if  the 
law  would  only  take  a  hand  before  and  not  afterward! 
Or  if,  when  they  are  sick  to  death  of  men,  they  could 
believe  that  time  would  wash  it  all  away;  that  there  was 
clean,  good  work  for  them  somewhere  in  the  world!" 

"My  darling,  why  distress  yourself  about  what  can't 
possibly  concern  you?"  Jim  said.  Julia  stared  at  him 
thoughtfully  for  a  few  silent  seconds. 

"It  does  concern  me.  That's  how  I  bought  my 
wisdom,"  she  said  quietly  then,  with  no  emotion  deeper 
than  a  mild  regret  visible  in  her  face.  Voice  and  manner 
were  swept  bare  of  passion;  she  seemed  infinitely  fa 
tigued.  "That's  why  I  can't  marry  you,  Jim." 

"What  do  you  mean  ? "  Jim  said  easily,  uncomprehend- 
ingly,  the  indulgent  smile  hardly  stricken  from  his  lips. 

Julia's  eyes  met  his  squarely  across  the  lamplight. 

"That,"  she  said  simply. 

There  was  a  silence,  and  no  change  of  expression  on 
either  face.  Then  Jim  stood  up. 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  he  said,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"It's  true,"  said  Julia.  " I  was  not  fifteen.  How  long 
ago  it  was!  Nobody  has  ever  known — you  need  not 
have  known.  But  I  am  glad  I  told  you.  I  have  been 
thinking  of  nothing  else  but  telling  you  for  two  days  and 
two  nights.  And  sometimes  I  would  say  to  myself  that 
what  that  old  little  ignorant  Julia  did  would  not  concern 
you " 

Jim  made  an  inarticulate  sound,  from  where  he  sat# 
with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  with  his  face  dropped  in  his 
hands. 

"But  I  see  it  does  concern  you!"  Julia  said,  quickly, 
with  great  simplicity.  "  I — luckily  I  decided  to  tell  you 
this  morning,"  she  said,  "for  I  am  absolutely  exhausted 
now.  It  was  a  terrible  thing  to  keep  thinking  about, 
and  I  could  not  have  fought  it  out  any  longer!  There 
were  extenuating  circumstances,  I  suppose.  I  was  a 
spoiled  little  empty-headed  girl;  the  girls  all  about  me 
were  reckless  in  everyway;  I  did  not  know  the  boundary- 
line,  or  dream  that  it  mattered  very  much,  so  long  as  no 


206  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

one  knew!  My  mother  had  been  unhappy  in  my 
childhood,  and  used  to  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  dis 
appointment  of  marriage.  Perhaps  I  don't  make  my 
self  clear?" 

" You!  Julia!"  Jim  whispered,  his  hands  still  over 
his  face. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Julia  said  drearily.  "I  don't  seem 
like  that  sort  of  a  girl,  I  know." 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence. 

uYou — poor — little — kid!"  Jim  said,  after  a  while, 
getting  up  and  beginning  to  walk  the  floor.  "Oh,  my 
God !  My  God !  Poor  little  kid ! " 

"I  suppose  there  are  psychological  moments  when  one 
wakes  up  to  things,"  Julia  went  on,  in  a  tone  curiously 
impersonal.  "I  was  in  some  theatricals  with  your 
sister,  years  ago.  Every  one  snubbed  me,  and  no 
wonder!  There  was  a  man  named  Carter  Hazzard — 
and  I  suddenly  seemed  to  wake  up  at  about  that 
time " 

"Carter  Hazzard!"  The  horror  in  Jim's  voice  rang 
through  the  room.  Julia  frowned. 

"I  only  saw  him  two  or  three  times,"  she  said.  "No. 
But  he  flirted  with  me,  and  flattered  me,  and  then 
Barbara  told  me  he  was  married,  and  then  I  found  out 
that  they  all  thought  I  was  vulgar  and  common — and  so 
I  was.  And  I  suppose  I  wanted  to  be  loved  and  made 
much  of,  and  he — this  man — was  good  to  me!" 

"Not  you — of  all  women!"  Jim  said  dully,  as  if  to 
himself. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  Julia  said  without  emotion, 
"because  of  course  I  feel  that  way,  too — now!  And  I 
never  loved  him,  never  even  thought  I  did !  It  was  only 
a  little  while — two  weeks  or  three,  I  guess — before  I  told 
him  I  couldn't  ever  love  him.  I  said  I  thought  I  might, 
but  it  was  like — like  realizing  that  I  had  been  throwing 
away  gold  pieces  for  dimes.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ? 
And  the  most  awful  disgust  came  over  me,  Jim — a  sort 
of  disappointment,  that  this  talked-of  and  anticipated 
thing  was  no  more  than  that !  And  then  I  came  here,  and 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  207 

I  knew  that  keeping  still  about  it  was  my  only  chance, 
and  oh,  how  sick  I  was,  soul  and  body,  for  a  fresh  start! 
And  then  your  aunt  talked  to  me,  and  said  what  a  pity 
it  is  that  young  girls  think  of  nothing  but  love  and  lovers, 
and  so  throw  away  their  best  years,  and  I  thought  that  I 
was  done  with  love;  no  more  curiosity — no  more  thrill — 
and  that  I  would  do  something  with  my  life  after  all!" 

Her  voice  dropped,  and  again  there  was  silence  in  the 
room.  Jim  continued  to  pace  the  floor. 

"Why,  there's  never  been  a  morning  at  St.  Anne's 
that  I  haven't  looked  at  those  girls,"  Julia  presently 
resumed,  "and  said  to  myself  that  I  might  have  been 
there,  with  my  head  shaved  and  a  green  check  dress  on! 
Lots  of  them  must  be  better  than  I ! " 

"Don't!"  Jim  said  sharply,  and  there  was  a  silence 
until  Julia  said  wonderingly: 

"Isn't  it  funny  that  all  last  night,  and  the  night 
before,  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die,  telling  you  this — 
and  now  it  just  doesn't  seem  to  matter  at  all?" 

"That's  why  you've  never  married?"  Jim  said, 
clearing  his  throat. 

"I've  never  wanted  to  until  now,"  Julia  said.  "And 
I — I  am  so  changed  now  that  somehow  I  would  never 
think  of  that — that  bad  old  time,  in  connection  with 
marriage!  It  was  as  if  that  part  of  my  life  was  sealed 
beyond  opening  again — — 

"And  then  you  came.  I  only  wanted  no  one  to  guess 
that  I  cared  at  first.  And  then,  when  I  saw  that  you 
were  beginning  to  care,  too,  oh,  my  God !  I  thought  my 
heart  would  burst!" 

And  with  sudden  terrible  passion  in  her  voice,  she  got 
up  in  her  turn  and  began  to  pace  the  room.  Jim,  who 
had  flung  himself  into  a  chair  opposite  hers,  rested  his 
elbows  on  the  table,  and  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"But  I  feel  this  about  your  caring  for  me,  Jim,"  Julia 
said.  "In  a  strange,  mysterious  way  I  feel  that  giving 
you  up — giving  you  up,  my  best  and  dearest,  is  puri 
fication!  When — when  this  is  over,  I  shall  have  paid! 
It  may  be" — tears  flooded  her  eyes,  and  she  came  back 


208  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


to  her  chair  and  laid  her  head  on  her  arm — "it  may  be 
that  I  can't  bear  it,  and  that  I  will  die!"  sobbed  Julia. 
"But  I  shall  always  be  glad  that  I  told  you  this  to 
night!"  There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  again  Jim 
came  to  kneel  beside  her,  and  put  one  arm  about  her. 

"My  own  little  girl!"  said  he.  At  his  voice  Julia 
raised  her  head,  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck  like  a 
weary  child,  and  rested  her  wet  face  against  his  own. 

"My  own  brave  girl!"  Jim  said.  "I  know  what 
courage  it  took  to  have  you  tell  me  this!  It  will  never 
be  known  to  any  one  else,  sweetheart,  and  we  will  bury 
it  in  our  hearts  forever.  Kiss  me,  dearest,  and  promise 
me  that  my  little  wife  will  stop  crying!" 

For  a  moment  it  was  as  if  she  tried  to  push  him  away. 

"Jim,"  she  whispered,  tears  running  down  her  face, 
"  have  you  thought — are  you  sure  ?  " 

"Quite  sure,  sweetheart,"  he  said  soothingly  and 
tenderly.  "Why,  Julie,  wouldn't  you  forgive  me  any 
thing  I  might  have  done  when  I  was  only  an  ignorant 
little  boy?" 

Julia  tightened  her  arms  about  him,  and  sobbed 
desperately  for  a  long  while.  Then  her  breathing 
quieted,  and  she  let  Jim  dry  her  eyes  with  his  own 
handkerchief,  and  listened,  with  an  occasional  long  sigh, 
to  his  eager,  confident  plans.  They  were  still  talking 
quietly  when  the  street  door  was  flung  open  and  Miss 
Toland  came  in,  on  a  rush  of  fresh  air. 

"Rain!"  said  Miss  Toland.  "Terrible  night!  Not 
an  umbrella  in  the  Parker  house  until  Clem  came  home 
— it's  quarter  to  ten!" 

"Congratulate  us,  Aunt  Sanna,"  said  Jim,  rising  to- 
his  feet  with  his  arm  still  about  Julia.  "Julia  has 
promised  to  marry  me!" 


End  of  Part  One 


PART  TWO 
CHAPTER  I 


PART  TWO 
CHAPTER  I 

YET  Dr.  James  Studdiford,  walking  down  to  his  club, 
an  hour  later,  with  the  memory  of  his  aunt's  joyous  con 
gratulations  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  of  Julia's  last  warm 
little  kiss  upon  his  cheek,  was  perhaps  more  miserable 
than  he  had  been  before  in  the  course  of  his  life.  Julia 
was  his  girl — his  own  girl — and  the  thrill  of  her  sub 
mission,  the  enchanting  realization  that  she  loved  him, 
rose  over  and  over  again  in  his  heart,  like  the  rising  of 
deep  waters — only  to  wash  against  the  firm  barrier  of 
that  hideous  Fact. 

Jim  could  do  nothing  with  the  Fact.  It  did  not  seem 
to  belong  to  him,  or  to  Julia,  to  their  love  and  future  to- 

S ether,  or  to  her  gallant,  all-enduring  past.  Julia  was 
ulia — that  was  the  only  significant  thing,  the  sweetest, 
purest,  cleverest  woman  he  knew.  And  she  loved 
him!  A  rush  of  ecstasy  flooded  his  whole  being;  how 
sweet  she  was  when  he  made  her  say  she  loved  him — 
when  she  surrendered  her  hands,  when  she  raised  her 
gravely  smiling  blue  eyes!  What  a  little  wife  she  would 
be,  what  a  gay  little  comrade,  and  some  day,  perhaps, 
what  a  mother! 

Again  the  Fact.  After  such  a  little  interval  of  radi 
ant  peace  it  seemed  to  descend  upon  him  with  an  ugly 
violence.  It  was  true;  nothing  that  they  could  do  now 
would  alter  it.  And,  of  course,  the  thing  was  serious. 
If  anything  in  life  was  serious,  this  was.  It  was  fright 
ful — it  seemed  sacrilegious  to  connect  such  things  for  an 
instant  with  Julia.  Dear  little  Julia,  with  her  crisp  little 
uniforms,  her  authority  in  the  classroom,  her  charming 
deference  to  Aunt  Sanna!  And  she  loved  him 


211 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Damn  it,  the  thing  either  counts  or  it  doesn't 
count!"  Jim  muttered,  striding  down  Market  Street, 
past  darkened  shops  and  corners  where  lights  showed 
behind  the  swinging  doors  of  saloons.  Either  it  was  all 
important  or  it  was  not  important  at  all.  With  most 

women,  all  important,  of  course.  With  Julia Jim 

let  his  mind  play  for  a  few  minutes  with  the  thought  of 
renunciation.  There  would  be  no  trouble  with  Julia, 
and  Aunt  Sanna  could  easily  be  silenced. 

He  shook  the  mere  vision  from  him  with  an  angry 
shake  of  the  head.  She  belonged  to  him  now,  his  little 
steadfast,  serious  girl.  And  she  had  deceived  them  all 
these  years!  Not  that  he  could  blame  her  for  it!  Nat 
urally,  Aunt  Sanna  would  never  have  overlooked  that, 
and  presumably  no  other  woman  would  have  engaged 
her,  knowing  it,  even  to  wash  dishes  and  sweep  steps. 

"Lord,  what  a  world  for  women!"  thought  Jim,  in 
simple  wonder.  Hunted  down  mercilessly,  pushed  at 
the  first  sign  of  weakening,  they  know  not  where,  and 
then  lost!  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  them  forever 
outcast,  to  pay  through  all  the  years  that  are  left  to 
them  for  that  hour  of  yielding!  Hundreds  of  thousands 
of  them,  and  his  Julia  only  different  because  she  had 
made  herself  so 

It  seemed  to  Jim,  in  his  club  now,  and  sunk  in  a  deep 
chair  before  the  wood  fire  in  the  quiet  library,  that  he 
could  never  marry  her.  It  must  simply  be  his  sorrow 
to  have  loved  Julia God,  how  he  did  love  her! 

But,  through  all  their  years  together,  there  must  not 
be  that  shadow  upon  their  happiness;  it  was  too  hideous 
to  be  endured.  "It  must  be  endured,"  mused  Jim 
wretchedly.  "It  is  true! 

"Anyway,"  he  went  on  presently,  rousing  himself, 
"the  thing  is  no  more  important  than  I  choose  to  make 
it.  Ordinarily,  yes.  But  in  this  case  the  thing  to  be 
considered  is  its  effect  on  Julia's  character,  and  if  ever 
any  soul  was  pure,  hers  is! 

"And  if  we  marry,  we  must  simply  make  up  our 
minds  that  the  past  is  dead!"  And  suddenly  Jim's 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  213 

flttH 

heart  (grew  lighter,  and  the  black  mood  of  the  past  hour 
seemed  to  drop.  He  stretched  himself  luxuriously  and 
folded  his  arms.  "If  Julia  isn't  a  hundred  per  cent, 
sweeter  and  better  and  finer  than  these  friends  of  Bab 
bie's,  who  go  chasing  about  to  bad  plays  and  read  all  the 
rottenest  books  that  are  printed,"  he  said,  "then  there's 
no  such  thing  as  a  good  woman!  My  little  girl — I'm 
not  half  worthy  of  her,  that's  the  truth ! " 

"Hello,  Jim!"  said  Gray  Babcock,  coming  in  from 
the  theatre,  and  stretching  his  long  cold  hands  over  the 
dying  fire.  "We  thought  you  might  come  in  to-night. 
Hazzard  and  Tom  Farley  had  a  little  party  for  Miss 
Manning,  of  the  'Dainty  Duchess'  Company,  you 
know — awfully  pretty  girl,  straight,  too,  they  say. 
There  were  a  couple  of  other  girls,  and  Roy  Grinell— 
things  were  just  about  starting  up  when  I  came  away!" 

Jim  rose,  and  kicked  the  scattered  ends  of  a  log  to 
ward  the  flame. 

"I've  not  got  much  use  for  Hazzard,"  he  observed, 
frowning. 

Babcock  gave  a  surprised  and  vacant  laugh. 

"Gosh !     I  thought  all  you  people  were  good  friends ! " 

"Hazzard's  an  ass,"  observed  Jim  irritably.  "There 
are  some  things  that  aren't  any  too  becoming  to  college 
kids — however,  you  can  forgive  them!  But  when  it 
comes  to  an  ass  like  Hazzard  chasing  to  every  beauty 
show,  and  taking  good  little  girls  to  supper " 

"Alice  don't  care  a  whoop  what  he  does,"  Babcock 
remarked  hastily. 

"Yes,  so  of  course  that  makes  everything  all  right," 
Jim  said  ironically.  But  Mr.  Babcock  was  in  no  mood 
to  be  critical  of  tones. 

"Sure  it  does!"  he  agreed  contentedly.  And  when 
Jim  had  disgustedly  departed,  he  remained  still  staring 
into  the  fire,  a  pleased  smile  upon  his  face. 

Julia  spent  the  next  day  in  bed  fighting  a  threatened 
nervous  breakdown,  and  Jim  came  to  see  her  at  two 
o'clock,  and  they  had  a  long  and  memorable  talk,  with 


214 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


Jim's  chair  drawn  close  to  the  couch,  and  the  girl's  lax 
hand  in  his  own.  She  had  not  slept  all  night,  she  told 
him,  and  he  suspected  that  she  had  spent  much  of  the 
long  vigil  in  tears.  Tears  came  again  as  she  begged  a 
hundred  times  to  set  him  free,  but  he  quieted  her  at 
last,  and  the  old  tragedy  that  had  risen  to  haunt  them 
was  laid.  And  if  Julia  felt  a  rush  of  blind  gratitude 
and  hope  when  they  sealed  their  new  compact  with  a 
kiss,  Jim  was  no  less  happy — -everything  had  come  out 
wonderfully,  and  he  loved  Julia  not  less,  but  more  than 
he  had  ever  loved  her.  The  facts  of  her  life,  whatever 
they  had  been,  had  made  her  what  she  was;  now  let 
them  all  be  forgotten. 

"Still,  you  are  not  sorry  I  told  you,  Jim?"  Julia 
asked. 

"No,  oh,  no,  dearest!  If  only  because  you  would 
have  been  sure  to  want  to  do  it  sooner  or  later — it  would 
have  worried  you.  But  now  I  do  know,  Julie,  you  little 
Spartan!  And  this  ends  it.  We'll  never  speak  of  it 
again,  and  we'll  never  think  of  it  again.  You  and  I  are 

the  only  two  who  know And  we  love  each  other. 

When  all's  said  and  done,  it's  I  that  am  not  good 
enough  for  you,  darling,  not  worthy  to  tie  your  little 
shoe  laces!" 

"Oh,  you!"  Julia  said,  in  great  content. 

The  rest  followed,  as  Julia  herself  said,  like  "a  house 
maid's  dream."  Jim  went  home  to  tell  his  own  people 
that  night,  and  the  very  next  morning  Julia,  surprised 
and  smiling,  took  in  at  the  door  a  trim  little  package 
that  proved  to  be  a  blue-and-white  Copenhagen  tea 
cup,  with  a  card  that  bore  only  the  words  "Miss  Bar 
bara  Lowe  Toland."  Julia  twisted  it  in  her  fingers 
with  a  curious  little  thrill  at  the  heart.  The  "nicest" 
people  sent  cups  to  engaged  girls,  the  "nicest"  people 
sent  their  cards  innocent  of  scribbled  messages.  She, 
Julia  Page,  was  one  of  the  "nicest"  people  now,  and 
these  were  the  first  tentacles  of  her  new  estate  reaching 
out  to  meet  her. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  215 

Notes  and  flowers  from  the  Tolands  and  the  warm 
hearted  Tolands  themselves  followed  thick  and  fast,  and 
in  a  day  or  two  notes  and  cups — cups — cups — were  com 
ing  from  other  people  as  well.  The  Misses  Saunders,  the 
Harvey  Brocks,  the  George  Chickerings,  Mr.  Peter 
Coleman,  Mr.  Jerome  Phillips,  Mrs.  Arnold  Keith, 
and  Miss  Mary  Peacock — all  had  found  time  to  go 
into  Nathan  Dohrmann's,  or  Gump's,  or  the  White 
House,  and  pick  out  a  beautiful  cup  to  send  Miss  Julia 
Page. 

Six  weeks — five  weeks — three  weeks  to  the  wedding, 
sang  Julia's  heart;  the  time  ran  away.  She  had  dreaded 
having  to  meet  Jim's  friends,  and  had  dreaded  some 
possible  embarrassment  from  an  unexpected  move  on 
the  part  of  her  own  family,  but  the  days  fled  by,  and  the 
miracle  of  their  happiness  only  expanded  and  grew 
sweeter,  like  a  great  opening  rose.  Their  hours  to 
gether,  with  so  much  to  tell  each  other  and  so  much  to 
discuss,  no  matter  how  short  the  parting  had  been,  were 
hours  of  exquisite  delight.  And  as  Julia's  beauty  and 
charm  were  praised  on  all  sides,  Jim  beamed  like  a  proud 
boy.  As  for  Julia,  every  day  brought  to  her  notice 
something  new  to  admire  in  this  wonderful  lover  of  hers: 
his  scowl  as  he  fixed  his  engine,  the  smile  that  always 
met  hers,  the  instant  soberness  and  attention  with  which 
he  answered  any  question  as  to  his  work  from  the  older 
doctor — all  this  was  delightful  to  her.  And  when  he 
took  her  to  luncheon,  his  careless  big  fingers  on  the 
ready  gold  pieces  and  his  easy  nod  to  the  waiter  were 
not  lost  upon  Julia.  She  had  loved  him  for  himself,  but 
it  was  additionally  endearing  to  learn  that  other  people 
loved  him,  too,  to  be  stopped  by  elderly  women  who 
smiled  and  praised  him,  to  have  young  people  affec 
tionately  interested  in  his  plans. 

"You  know  you  are  nothing  but  a  small  boy,  Jim," 
Julia  said  one  day,  "just  a  sweet,  happy  kid !  You  were 
a  spoiled  and  pitied  little  boy,  with  your  big  eyes  and 
your  velvet  suits  and  your  patent  leathers;  you  loved 
every  one — every  one  loved  you;  you  had  your  allow- 


216  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

ance,  you  were  born  to  be  a  surgeon,  and  chance  made 
your  guardian  a  doctor " 

"I  fell  down  on  my  exams,"  Jim  submitted  meekly. 
"And  there  was  a  fellow  at  college  who  said  I  bored 
him!" 

"Oh,  dearest,"  Julia  said,  beginning  to  laugh  at  his 
rueful  face,  "and  are  those  the  worst  things  that  ever 
happened  to  you?" 

"About,"  said  Jim,  enjoying  the  consolatory  little  kiss 
she  gave  him. 

"And  your  youngness  baffles  me,"  pursued  Julia 
thoughtfully.  "You're  ten  years  older  than  I  am, 
you've  been  able  to  do  a  thousand  things  I  never  did, 
you're  a  rising  young  surgeon,  and  yet — and  yet  some 
times  there's  a  sort  of  level — level  isn't  the  word! — a 
sort  of  positive  youth  about  you  that  makes  me  feel 
eighty!  It's  just  as  if  you  had  been  born  everything 
you  are,  ready  made!  When  you  have  to  straighten  a 
child's  hip,  you  push  your  hair  back  like  a  nice  little  kid, 
and  say  to  yourself,  'Sure — I  can  do  that!'  You  seem 
as  pleased  and  surprised  as  any  one  else  when  every 
thing  comes  out  right!" 

"Well,  gos  '  I  never  can  put  on  any  lugs!"  said 
James,  rumpling  his  hair  in  penitential  enjoyment. 

"I  have  to  learn  things  so  hard"  Julia  mused,  "they 
dig  down  right  into  the  very  soul  of  me " 

"You're  implying  that  I'm  shallow,"  said  the  doctor 
sternly.  "You  think  I'm  a  pampered  child  of  luxury, 
but  I'm  not!  I  just  think  I'm  a  pretty  ordinary  fellow 
who  came  in  for  an  extraordinary  line  of  luck.  I  would 
have  made  a  pretty  good  bluff  at  supporting  myself  in 
any  sort  of  life;  as  it  was,  when  I  was  a  youngster,  grow 
ing  up,  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  'You  think  you're  going 
to  be  rich,  but  half  the  poor  men  in  the  world  are  born 
rich,  anything  may  happen!'  However,  I  enjoyed 
things  just  the  same,  and  I  went  to  medical  college  just 
because  Dad  said  every  man  ought  to  be  able  to  sup 
port  himself.  Then  I  got  interested  in  the  thing,  and 
old  Fox  was  a  king  to  me,  and  told  me  I  ought  to  go  in 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  217 

for  surgery.  My  own  father  was  a  surgeon,  you  know. 
Some  hands  are  just  naturally  better  for  it  than  others, 
and  his  were,  and  mine  are.  And  at  twenty-five  I  came 
of  age,  and  found  that  my  money  was  pretty  safely 
fixed,  and  that  Dad  was  kind  of  counting  on  my  going 
in  with  him.  So  there  you  are!  Things  just  come  my 
way;  as  I  say,  I'd  have  been  satisfied  with  less,  but  I've 
got  in  the  habit  of  taking  my  luck  for  granted/' 

"And  some  people,  like — well,  like  my  grandmother, 
for  instance,  just  get  in  the  habit  of  bad  luck,"  Julia 
said,  with  a  sigh.  "And  some,  like  myself,"  she  added, 
brightening,  "are  born  in  the  bad  belt,  and  push  into  the 
good!  And  we're  the  really  lucky  ones!  I  shall  never 
put  on  a  fresh  frock,  or  go  downtown  with  you  to  the 
theatre,  without  a  special  separate  joy!" 

Jim  said,  "You  angel!"  and  as  she  jumped  up — they 
had  been  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  hall  at  The  Alexander 
— he  caught  her  around  the  waist,  and  Julia  set  a  little 
kiss  on  the  top  of  his  hair. 

"But  you  do  love  me,  Ju?"  Jim  asked. 

"But  I  do  indeed!"  she  answered.  "Why  do  you  al 
ways  ask  me  in  that  argumentative  sort  of  way?  But 
me  no  buts!"  ».•!• 

"Ah,  well,  it's  because  I'm  always  afraid  you'll  stop!" 
Jim  pleaded.  "And  I  do  so  want  you  to  begin  to  love 
me  as  much  as  I  do  you!" 

"You  must  have  had  thousands  of  girls!"  Julia  re 
marked,  idly  rumpling  his  hair. 

"I  never  was  engaged  before!"  he  assured  her 
promptly.  "Except  to  that  Delaware  girl,  as  I  told 
you,  and  after  five  years  she  threw  me  over  for  a  boy 
named  Gregory  Biddle,  with  several  millions,  but  no 
chin,  Julia,  and  had  the  gall  to  ask  me  to  the  wedding!" 

"Jim,  and  you  went?" 

"Sure  I  went!"  Jim  declared. 

"Oh,  Jim!"  and  Julia  gave  him  another  kiss,  through 
a  gale  of  laughter,  and  ran  off  to  change  her  gown  and 
put  on  her  hat. 

It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  they  were  going  to 


218  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Sausalito.  But  first  they  went  downtown  in  the  lazy 
soft  spring  afternoon,  to  buy  gloves  for  Julia  and  a 
scarf  pin  for  Richie,  who  was  to  be  Jim's  best  man,  and 
to  go  into  the  big  railroad  office  to  get  tickets  for  the  use 
of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  James  Studdiford  three  days  later. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  Julia  asked  idly,  her  eyes 
moving  about  the  bright  pigeonholed  office,  and  to  the 
window,  and  the  street  beyond.  Jim  for  answer  put  his 
thumb  upon  the  magic  word  that  stared  up  at  her  from 
the  long  ticket. 

"New  York!"  she  whispered;  her  radiant  look  flashed 
suddenly  to  him.  "Oh,  Jim!"  And  as  they  went  out 
he  heard  a  little  sigh  of  utter  content  beside  him.  "It's 
too  much!"  said  Julia.  "To  go  to  New  York — with 
you!" 

"Wherever  you  go,  you  go  with  me,"  he  reminded 
her,  with  a  glance  that  brought  the  swift  colour  to  her 
face. 

Then  they  went  down  to  the  boat.  It  was  the  first 
hot  afternoon  of  the  season;  there  was  a  general  carrying 
of  coats,  and  people  were  using  the  deck  seats;  there 
was  even  some  grumbling  at  the  heat.  But  Sausalito 
was  at  its  loveliest,  and  Julia  felt  almost  oppressed  by  the 
exquisite  promise  of  summer  that  came  with  the  sudden 
sound  of  laughter  and  voices  in  lanes  that  had  long  been 
silent,  and  with  the  odour  of  dying  grass  and  drooping 
buttercups  beside  the  road.  The  Toland  garden  was 
full  of  roses,  bright  in  level  sunshine,  windows  and  doors 
were  all  wide  open,  and  the  odours  from  bowls  of 
flowers  drifted  about  the  house.  Barbara,  lovely  in 
white,  came  to  meet  them. 

"Come  in,  you  poor  things,  you  must  be  roasted! 
Jim,  you're  as  red  as  a  beet;  go  take  a  bath!"  said  Bar 
bara.  "And  Julia,  Aunt  Sanna  is  here,  and  she  says 
that  you're  to  lie  down  for  not  less  than  an  hour.  And 
there  are  some  packages  for  you,  so  come  up  and  lie 
down  on  my  bed,  and  we'll  open  them!" 

"  Barbara,  I  am  so  happy  I  think  my  heart  will  burst !" 
said  Julia,  ten  minutes  later,  from  Barbara's  pillows. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  219 

"Well,  you  ought  to  be,  my  good  woman!  Jim 
Studdiford — when  he's  sober — is  as  good  a  husband  as 
ou're  likely  to  get!"  said  Barbara,  laughing.  "Now, 

k,  Julia,  here's  a  jam  pot  from  the  Fowlers — Frederic 
Fowlers — I  call  that  decent  of  them!  Janey,  come  in 
ere  and  put  this  jam  pot  down  on  Julia's  list!  And 
this  heavy  thing  from  the  Penroses.  I  hope  to  goodness 
it  isn't  more  carvers!" 

It  was  Barbara  who  said  later  to  Julia,  in  a  confiden 
tial  undertone: 

"You  know  you've  got  to  write  personal  notes  for 
every  bit  of  this  stuff,  Julia,  right  away?  Lots  of  girls 
do  it  on  their  honeymoons." 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Barbara:  how  do  I  sign 
myself  to  these  people  I've  never  seen :  '  Yours  truly'  ? " 

"Oh,  heavens,  no!  'Sincerely  yours'  or  *  Yours 
cordially5  and  make  'em  short.  The  shorter  they  are 
the  smarter  they  are,  remember  that." 

"And  if  I  sign  J.  P.  Studdiford,  or  Julia  P.  Studdiford 
| — then  oughtn't  'Mrs.  J.  N.'  go  in  one  corner?" 

"Oh,  no,  you  poor  webfpot!  No.  Just  write  a  good 
splashy  'Julia  Page  Studdiford'  all  over  the  page;  they'll 
:  |  know  who  you  are  fast  enough!" 

"Thanks,"  said  Julia  shyly. 

"You're  welcome,"  Barbara  said,  smiling.  "Are  you 
ready  to  go  down?" 

After   dinner    the  young    Tolands,    augmented    by 

several  young  men,  and  by  Julia  and  the  doctor,  all 

wandered  out  into  the  thick  darkness,  rejoicing  in  the 

return  of  summer.     Sausalito's  lanes  were  sweet  with 

roses,  lights  shone  out  across  the  deep  fresh  green  of 

gardens,  and  lights  moved  on  the  gently  moving  waters 

i  |  of  the  bay.     A  ferryboat,  a  mass  of  checkered  bright- 

!  I  ness,  plowed  its  way  from  Alcatraz — far  off  the  city  lay 

ijlike  a  many-stranded  chain  of  glittering  gems  upon  the 

water.     Julia  and  Doctor  Studdiford  let  the  others  go  on 

without  them,  and  sat  together  in  the  dim  curve  of  the 

O'Connell  seat,  and  the  heartbreaking  beauty  of  the 


220  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

night  wrapped  them  both  in  a  happiness  so  deep  as  t< 
touch  the  borderland  of  pain. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  night?"  said  little  Julia 
"Shall  we  ever  be  so  happy  again?" 

Jim  could  not  see  her  clearly,  but  he  saw  her  bright 
soft  eyes  in  the  gloom,  the  shimmer  of  her  loosened  hair 
the  little  white-clad  figure  in  the  seat's  wide  curve,  anc 
the  crossed  slim  ankles.  He  put  his  arm  about  her,  and 
she  rested  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  say  that,  darling!"  said  Jim.  "This  is  great 
of  course.  But  it's  nothing  to  all  the  happy  months  anc 
years  that  we'll  belong  to  each  other.  Nothing  but 
death  will  ever  come  between  you  and  me,  Julie!" 

"And  I  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  death,"  murmured 
Julia,  staring  up  at  the  stars.  "Strange — strange- 
strange  that  we  all  must  go  that  way  some  day!"  she 
mused. 

"Well,  please  God,  we'll  do  some  living  first,"  Jim 
said,  with  healthy  anticipation.  "We'll  go  to.Ne\\ 
York,  and  gad  about,  and  go  to  Washington  and  Boston, 
and  pick  up  things  here  and  there  for  the  house,  do  you 
see?  Then  we'll  come  back  here  and  go  to  a  hotel,  and 
find  a  house  and  fix  it  up!" 

"That'll  be  fun,"  said  Julia. 

"You  bet  your  life  it'll  be  fun!  And  then,  my  dear, 
we'll  give  some  corking  dinners,  and  my  beautiful  wife 
will  wear  blue  velvet,  or  white  lace,  or  peachy  silk " 

"Or  all  three  together,"  the  prospective  wife  sug 
gested,  "with  the  flags  of  all  nations  in  my  hair!" 

"Then  next  year  we'll  visit  old  Gilchrist,  at  Monterey, 
and  go  up  to  Tahoe,"  continued  Jim,  unruffled.  "Or 
we  could  take  some  place  in  Ross " 

"And  then  I  will  give  a  small  and  select  party  for  one 
guest,"  said  Julia  whimsically,  "and  board  him,  free,  for 
fifteen  or  twenty  years " 

"Julia,  you  little  duck!"  Jim  bent  his  head  over  hei 
in  the  starlight,  and  felt  her  soft  hair  brush  his  face,  and 
caught  the  glint  of  her  laughing  eyes  close  to  his  own, 
and  the  vague  delicious  Jittle  perfume  of  youth  and 


I 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


eauty  and  radiant  health  that  hung  about  her.     "Do 
lyou  know  that  you  are  as  cunning  as  a  sassy  kid  ? "  he  de- 
'wnanded.   "Now,  kiss  me  once  and  for  all,  and  no  nonsense 
about  it,  for  I  can  hear  the  others  coming  back!" 

Two  days  later  they  were  married,  very  quietly,  in  the 
jlittle  Church  of  Saint  Charles  Borromeo,  where  Julia's 
^Father  and  mother  had  been  married  a  quarter  of  a 
jpentury  ago.  They  had  "taken  advantage,"  as  Julia 
3lbaid,  of  her  old  grandfather's  death,  and  announced  that 
Ipecause  the  bride's  family  was  in  mourning  the  ceremony 
4vould  be  a  very  quiet  one.  Even  the  press  was  not 
•notified;  the  Tolands  filled  two  pews,  and  two  more  were 
ftlled  by  Julia's  mother,  her  grandmother,  and  cousins. 
"•Kennedy  Scott  Marbury  and  her  husband  were  there, 
"land  sturdy  two-year-old  Scott  Marbury,  who  was 
Jmuch  interested  in  this  extraordinary  edifice  and  im- 
'ipressive  proceeding,  but  there  were  no  other  witnesses. 
:lyulia  wore  a  dark-blue  gown,  and  a  wide  black  hat  whose 
•ifacy  brim  cast  a  most  becoming  shadow  over  her  lovely, 
Serious  face.  She  and  Miss  Toland  drove  from  the 
^settlement  house,  and  stopped  to  pick  up  Mrs.  Page,  who 
•was  awed  by  Julia's  dignity,  and  a  little  resentful  of  the 
•way  in  which  others  had  usurped  her  place  with  her 
ijpaughter.  However,  Emeline  had  very  wisely  decided 
itjto  make  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  treated  Miss 
Toland  with  stiff  politeness.  Julia  was  in  a  smiling 
Bjdream,  out  of  which  she  roused  herself,  at  intervals,  for 
mly  a  gentle,  absent-minded  "Yes"  or  "No." 

I  tried  to  persuade  her  to  be  married  at  the  Cathe 
dral,  by  His  Grace,"  said  Miss  Toland  to  Mrs.  Page. 
*  But  she  wanted  it  this  way ! " 

"Well,  I'm  sure  she  feels  youVe  done  too  much  for  her 
is  it  is,"  Emeline  said  mincingly.  "Now  she  must  turn 
around  and  return  some  of  it!" 

To  this  Miss  Toland  made  no  answer  except  an  out 
raged  snort,  and  a  closer  pressure  of  her  fine,  bony  hand 
apon  Julia's  warm  little  fingers.  They  presently 
reached  the  church,  and  Julia  was  in  Barbara's  hands. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"You  look  lovely,  darling,  and  your  hat  is  a  dream!" 
said  Barbara,  who  looked  very  handsome  herself,  in  her 
brown  suit  and  flower-trimmed  hat.     "We  go  upstairs, 
I  think.     Jim's  here,  nervous  as  a.  fish.     You're  wonder 
ful — as    calm!     I'd    simply    be   in    spasms.     Ted    wasi 
awful;  you'd  think  she  had  been  married  every  day,  butil 
Robert — his  collar  was  wilted!  " 

They  had  reached  the  upper  church  now,  and  Miss 
Toland  and  Mrs.  Page  followed  the  girls  down  the  long 
aisle  to  the  altar.     Julia  saw  her  little  old  grandmother, 
in  an  outrageous  flowered  bonnet,  and  Evelyn  who  was'i 
a  most  successful  modiste  now,  and  Marguerite,  looking  | 
flushed   and  excited,  with  her  fat,  apple-faced  young 
husband,   and   three  lumpy  little   children.     Also   her 
Aunt  May  was  there,  and  some  young  people:  Muriel, 
who  was  what  Evelyn  had  been  at  fifteen,  and  a  tooth 
less  nine-year-old  Regina,  in  pink,  and  some  boys.      Oni 
the  other  side  were  the  elegant  Tolands,  the  dear  old  I 
doctor  in  an  aisle  seat,  with  his  hands,  holding  his  eye 
glasses  and  his  handkerchief,  fallen  on  either  knee;  Ted 
lovely  in  blue,  Constance  and  Jane  with  Ned  and  Mrs. 
Ned,  frankly  staring. 

As  Julia  came  down  the  aisle,  with  a  sudden  nervous  j 
jump  of  her  heart,  she  saw  Jim  and  Richie,  who  was  limp-  j 
ing  badly,  but  without  his  crutch,  come  toward  her.  The! 
old  priest  came  down  the  altar  steps  at  the  same  time.  \ 
She  and  Jim  listened  respectfully  to  a  short  address! 
without  hearing  a  word  of  it,  and  found  themselves  say- 1 
ing  the  familiar  words  without  in  the  least  sensing  them,  3 
Julia  battled  through  the  prayer  with  a  vague  idea  that  i 
she  was  losing  a  valuable  opportunity  to  invoke  thej 
blessing  of  God,  but  unable  to  think  of  anything  but  the  j 
fact  that  the  bride  usually  walked  out  of  church  on  the  I 
groom's  arm,  and  that  St.  Charles's  aisle  was  long  and  I 
rather  dismal  in  the  waning  afternoon  light. 

"Here,  darling,  in  the  vestry!"  Jim  was  whispering, 
smiling  his  dear,  easy,  reassuring  smile  as  he  guided  her 
to  the  nearby  door.  And  in  a  second  they  were  all 
about  her,  her  first  kiss  on  the  wet  cheek  of  Aunt  Sanna, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  223 

the  second  to  her  mother — "Evelyn,  you  were  a  dar 
ing  to  come  way  across  the  city,  and  Marguerite,  you 
were  a  darling  to  bring  those  precious  angels" — and 
then  the  old  doctor's  kiss,  and  Richie's  kiss,  and  a 
pressure  from  his  big  bony  fingers.  Julia  half  knelt  to 
imbrace  little  Scott  Marbury.  "He's  beautiful, 
jKennedy;  no  wonder  you're  proud!"  And  she  tore  her 
I  beautiful  bunch  of  roses  apart,  that  each  girl  might  have 
la  few. 

"I've  got  to  get  her  to  the  train!"  Jim  protested 
•presently,  trying  patiently  to  disengage  his  wife's  hands, 
•eyes,  and  attention.  "Julia!  Julia  Studdiford!" 

"Yes,  I  know!"  Julia  laughed,  and  was  snatched 
•away,  half  laughing  and  half  in  tears,  and  hurried  down 
•to  the  side  street,  where  a  carriage  was  waiting.  And 
Ihere  there  was  one  more  delay:  Chester  Cox,  a  thin 
•shambling  figure,  came  forward  from  a  shadowy  door- 
liway,  and  rather  timidly  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  couldn't  get  away  until  jest  now,"  said  Chester. 
|"  But  of  course  I  wish  you  luck,  Julia!" 

"Why,  it's  my  uncle!"  Julia  said,  cordially  clasping 
Ihis  hand.  "Mr.  Cox — Doctor  Studdiford.  I'm  so  glad 
•you  came,  Chess!" 

"Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Cox,"  Jim  said  heartily. 

"And  I  brought  you  a  little  present;  it  ain't  much,  but 
Ijmaybe  you  can  use  it!"  mumbled  Chester,  terribly 
I  embarrassed,  and  with  a  nervous  laugh  handing  Julia  a 
Jrather  large  package  somewhat  flimsily  wrapped  and 
I  tied. 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  Julia  said  gratefully.  And  before 
lishe  got  in  the  carriage  she  put  her  hand  on  Chester's 
farm,  and  raised  her  fresh,  exquisite  little  face  for  a 
Jikiss. 

"Now,  about  this — —  Doctor  Studdiford  began 
jildelicately,  glancing  at  Chester's  gift,  which  Julia  had 
Ijgiven  him  to  hold.  "I  wonder  if  it  wouldn't  be  wise  to 
I  ask  your  uncle  to  send  this  to  my  mother's  until  we  get 
1  back,  Ju.  You  see,  dear— 

"Oh,  no — no!"  Julia  said  eagerly,  leaning  out  of  the 


224  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

carriage,  and  taking  the  package  again.  She  sent  Ches 
ter  a  last  bright  smile,  as  Jim  jumped  in  and  slammed 
the  door,  but  it  was  an  April  face  that  she  turned  a  sec 
ond  later  to  her  husband. 

"They're  all  so  good  to  me,  and  it  just  breaks  my 
heart!"  she  said. 

"At  last — it's  all  over — and  you  belong  to  me!" 
exulted  Jim.  "I  have  been  longing  and  longing  for  this, 
just  to  be  alone  with  you,  and  have  you  to  myself.  Are 
you  tired,  sweetheart  ? " 

"No — o.     Just  a  little — perhaps." 

"But  you  do  love  me?" 

"Oh,  Jim — you  idiot!"  Julia  slipped  her  hand  into 
his,  as  he  put  one  arm  about  her,  and  rested  against  his 
shoulder.  "When  I  think  that  I  will  often  ride  in  car 
riages,"  she  mused,  half  smiling,  "and  that,  besides  be 
ing  my  Jim,  you  are  a  rich  man,  it  makes  me  feel  as  if 
I  were  Cinderella!" 

"You  shall  have  your  own  carriage  if  you  want  it,. 
Pussy!"  he  smiled. 

"Oh,  don't — don't  give  me  anything  more,"  begged 
Julia,  "or  a  clock  somewhere  will  strike  twelve,  and  I'll 
wake  up  in  The  Alexander,  with  the  Girls'  Club  re-  | 
hearsing  a  play!" 

When  she  had  examined  every  inch  of  her  Pullma 
drawing-room,  and  commented  upon  one  hundred  of  it 
surprising  conveniences,  and  when  her  smart  little 
travelling  case,  the  groom's  gift,  had  been  partly  un 
packed,  and  when  her  blue  eyes  had  refreshed  them 
selves  with  a  long  look  at  the  rolling  miles  of  lovely 
San  Mateo  hills,  then  young  Mrs.  Studdiford  looked  at 
her  Uncle  Chester's  wedding  gift.  She  found  a  brush 
and  comb  and  mirror  in  pink  celluloid,  with  roses 
painted  on  them,  locked  with  little  brass  hasps  into  a 
case  lined  with  yellow  silk. 

"Look,  Jim!"  said  Julia  pitifully,  not  knowing 
whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

"Gosh!"  said  the  doctor  thoughtfully,  looking  over 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  225 

the  coat  he  was  neatly  arranging  on  a  hanger.  "I've 
often  wondered  who  buys  those  things!" 

"I'll  give  it  to  the  porter,"  Julia  decided.  "He  may 
like  it.  Dear  old  Chess!"  And  Jim  grinned  indul 
gently  a  few  minutes  later  at  the  picture  of  his  beautiful 
ittle  wife  enslaving  the  old  coloured  porter,  and 
gravely  discussing  with  him  the  advantages  and  disad 
vantages  of  his  work. 

"You  know,  we  could  have  our  meals  in  here,  Ju," 
Jim  suggested.  "Claude  here" — all  porters  were 
"Claude"  to  Jim — "would  take  care  of  us,  wouldn't 
you,  Claude?" 

"Dat  I  would!"  said  Claude  with  husky  fervour. 
But  Julia's  face  fell. 

"Oh,  Jim!  But  it  would  be  such  fun  to  go  out  to  the 
dining-car!"  she  pleaded. 

Jim  shouted.  "All  right,  you  baby!"  he  said.  "You 
see,  my  wife's  only  a  little  girl,"  he  explained.  "She's 
— are  you  eight  or  nine,  Julia?" 

"She  sho'  don't  look  more'n  dat,"  Claude  gallantly 
assured  them,  as  he  departed. 

"I'll  be  twenty-four  on  my  next  birthday,"  Julia 
said  thoughtfully,  a  few  moments  later. 

"Well,  at  that,  you  may  live  three  or  four  years 
more!"  Jim  consoled  her.  "Do  you  know  what  time 
it  is,  Loveliness?  It's  twenty  minutes  past  six.  We've 
been  married  exactly  two  hours  and  twenty  minutes. 
How  do  you  like  it?" 

"I  love  it!"  said  Julia  boldly.  "Do  I  have  to  change 
my  dress  for  dinner?" 

uYou  do  not." 

"But  I  ought  to  fix  my  hair,  it's  all  mashed!"  Julia 
did  wonders  to  it  with  one  of  the  ivory-backed  brushes 
that  had  come  with  the  new  travelling  case,  fluffing  the 
thick  braids  and  tucking  the  loose  golden  strands  about 
her  temples  trimly  into  place.  Then  she  rubbed  her 
face  with  a  towel,  and  jumped  up  to  straighten  her 
belt,  and  run  an  investigating  finger  about  the  em- 
ibroidered  "turn-down"  collar  that  finished  her  blue 


226  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

silk  blouse.  Finally  she  handed  Jim  her  new  whisk- 
broom  with  a  capable  air,  and  presented  straight  little 
shoulders  to  be  brushed. 

Jim  turned  her  round  and  round,  whisking  and 
straightening,  and  occasionally  kissing  the  tip  of  a  pink 
ear,  or  the  straight  white  line  where  her  hair  parted. 

"Here,  you  can't  keep  that  up  all  night!"  Julia 
suddenly  protested,  grabbing  the  brush.  "I'll  do  you ! " 
But  Jim  stopped  the  performance  by  suddenly  imprison 
ing  girl  and  whiskbroom  in  his  arms. 

"Do  you  know  I  think  we  are  going  to  have  great 
fun!"  said  he.  "You're  such  a  good  little  sport,  Ju! 
No  nerves  and  no  nonsense  about  you!  It's  such  fun 
to  do  things  with  a  person  who  isn't  eternally  fussing 
about  heat  and  cold,  and  whether  she  ought  to  wear  her 
gloves  into  the  dining-car,  and  whether  any  one  wil| 
guess  that  she's  just  married!" 

"Oh,  I  have  my  nervous  moments,"  Julia  confessed,] 
her  eyes  looking  honestly  up  into  his.  "It  seems  aw-j 
fully  strange  and  queer,  rushing  farther  and  farther 
away  from  home,  alone  with  you!"  Her  voice  sank  a 
little;  she  put  up  her  arms  and  locked  them  about  his 
neck.  "I  have  to  keep  reminding  myself  that  you  are; 
just  you,  Jim,"  she  said  bravely,  "who  gave  me  myf 
Browning,  and  took  me  to  tea  at  the  Pheasant — and' 
then  it  all  seems  right  again!  And  then — such  lots  oi 
nice  people  have  got  married,  and  gone  away  on  honey-- 
moons,"  she  ended,  argumentatively. 

The  laughter  had  gone  from  Jim's  eyes;  a  look  almost 
shy,  almost  ashamed,  had  taken  its  place.  He  kept  her 
as  she  was  for  a  moment,  then  gave  her  a  serious  kiss, 
and  they  went  laughing  through  the  rocking  cars  to 
eat  their  first  dinner  together  as  man  and  wife.  And 
Jim  watched  her  as  she  radiantly  settled  herself  ati 
table,  and  watched  the  frown  of  childish  gravity  with 
which  she  studied  her  menu,  with  some  new  and  tender 
emotion  stirring  at  his  heart.  Life  had  greater  joys  in 
it  than  he  had  ever  dreamed,  and  greater  potentialities 
for  sorrow,  too.  What  was  bright  in  life  was  alt 


es 

1 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  227 

gether  more  gloriously  bright,  and  what  was  dark  seemed 
to  touch  him  more  closely;  he  felt  the  sorrow  of  age  in 
the  trembling  old  man  at  the  table  across  the  aisle,  the 
pathos  of  youth  in  the  two  young  travelling  salesmen 
who  chattered  so  self-confidently  over  their  meal. 

Several  weeks  later  young  Mrs.  Studdiford  wrote  to 
Barbara  that  New  York  was  "a  captured  dream."  "I 
seem  to  belong  to  it,"  wrote  Julia,  "and  it  seems  to  be 
long  to  me!  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  satisfies  me;  it  is 
good  just  to  look  down  from  my  window  at  Fifth  Ave 
nue,  every  morning,  and  say  to  myself,  'I'm  still  in  New 
York!'  For  the  first  two  weeks  Jim  and  I  did  every 
thing  alone,  like  two  children:  the  new  Hippodrome,  and 
Coney  Island,  and  the  Liberty  Statue,  and  the  Bronx 
Zoo.  I  never  had  such  a  good  time!  We  went  to  the 
theatres,  and  the  museums,  and  had  breakfast  at  the 
Casino,  and  lived  on  top  of  the  green  'busses!  But  now 
Jim  has  let  some  of  his  old  college  friends  know  we  are 
here,  arid  we  are  spinning  like  tops.  One  is  an  artist, 
and  has  the  most  fascinating  studio  I  ever  saw,  down 
on  Washington  Square,  and  another  is  an  editor,  and 
gave  us  a  tea  in  his  rooms,  overlooking  Stuyvesant 
Square,  and  Barbara,  everybody  there  was  a  celebrity 
(except  us)  and  all  so  sweet  and  friendly — it  was  a  hot 
spring  day,  and  the  trees  in  the  square  were  all  such  a 
fresh,  bright  green. 

"They  make  a  great  fuss  about  the  spring  here,  and 
you  can  hardly  blame  them.  The  whole  city  turns  it 
self  inside  out;  people  simply  stream  to  the  parks,  and 
the  streets  swarm  with  children.  Some  of  the  poorer 
women  go  bareheaded  or  with  shawls,  even  in  the  cars 
— did  you  ever  see  a  bareheaded  woman  in  a  car  at 
home?  But  they  are  all  much  nearer  the  peasant  here. 
And  after  clean  San  Francisco,  you  wouldn't  believe 
how  dirty  this  place  is;  all  the  smaller  stores  have  shops 
in  the  basements,  and  enough  dirt  and  old  rags  and 
wet  paper  lying  around  to  send  Doctor  Blue  into  a  con 
vulsion!  And  they  use  pennies  here,  which  seems  so 


228  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

petty,  and  paper  dollars  instead  of  silver,  which  I  hate. 
And  you  say  'L'  or  'sub'  for  the  trains,  and  always 
*  surface  cars'  for  the  regular  cars — it's  all  so  different 
and  so  interesting. 

"Tell  Richie  Jim  is  going  to  assist  the  great  Doctor 
Cassell  in  some  demonstrations  of  bone  transplanting, 
at  Bellevue,  next  week — oh,  and  Barbara,  did  I  write 
Aunt  Sanna  that  we  met  the  President!  My  dear,  we 
did.  We  were  at  the  theatre  with  the  Cassells,  and 
saw  him  in  a  box,  and  Doctor  Cassell,  the  old  darling, 
knows  him,  and  went  to  the  President's  box  to  ask  if  we 
might  be  brought  in  and  presented,  and,  my  dear,  he 
got  up  and  came  back  with  Doctor  Cassell  to  our  box, 
and  was  simply  sweet,  and  asked  me  if  I  wasn't  from  the 
South,  and  I  nearly  said,  'Yes,  south  of  Market  Street,' 
but  refrained  in  time.  I  he  d  on  the  new  apricot  crepe, 
and  a  black  hat,  and  felt  very  Lily-like-a-princess,  as 
Jane  says. 

"But  we're  both  getting  homesick;  it  will  seem  good 
to  see  the  old  ferry  building  again — and  Sausalito,  and 
all  of  you." 

Early  in  July  they  did  start  homeward,  but  by  so 
circuitous  a  route,  and  with  such  prolonged  stops  at  the 
famous  hotels  of  Canada,  that  it  was  on  a  September 
afternoon  that  they  found  themselves  taking  the  Toland 
household  by  storm.  And  Julia  thought  no  experience 
in  her  travels  so  sweet  as  this  one:  to  be  received  into  the 
heart  of  the  family,  and  to  settle  down  to  a  review  of 
the  past  five  months.  Richie  was  so  brotherly  and 
kind,  the  girls  so  admiring  of  her  furs  and  her  diamonds, 
so  full  of  gay  chatter,  the  old  doctor  so  gallant  and  so 
affectionate!  Mrs.  Toland  chirped  and  twittered  like 
the  happy  mother  of  a  cageful  of  canaries;  and  Julia, 
when  they  gathered  about  the  fire  after  dinner,  took  a 
low  stool  next  to  Miss  Toland's  chair  and  rested  a 
shoulder,  little-girl  fashion,  against  the  older  woman's 
knee. 

"It  was  simply  a  tour  of  triumph  for  Ju,"  said  Docto^ 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Jim,  packing  his  pipe  at  the  fireplace,  with  satisfied  eyes 
on  his  wife.  "She  has  friends  in  the  Ghetto  and  friends 
in  the  White  House.  We  went  down  to  the  Duponts', 
on  Long  Island,  and  Dupont  said  she " 

"Oh,  please,  Jim!"  Julia  said  seriously. 

"Dupont  said  she  was  one  of  the  most  interesting 
women  he  ever  talked  to,"  Jim  continued  inexorably, 
"and  John  Mandrake  wanted  to  paint  her!" 

"Tell  me  the  news!"  begged  Julia.  "How's  The 
Alexander,  Aunt  Sanna — how  is  Miss  Striker  turning 
out?" 

"She's  turned  out,"  said  Miss  Toland  grimly,  her 
knitting  needles  flashing  steadily.  "She  came  to  me 
with  her  charts  and  rules,  and  oh,  she  couldn't  lie  in 
bed  after  half-past  six  in  the  morning,  and  she  couldn't 
put  off  the  sewing  class,  and  she  would  like  to  ask  me 
not  to  eat  my  breakfast  after  nine  o'clock!  A  girl  who 
never  cared  what  she  ate — sardines  and  tea! — and  she 
wouldn't  come  in  with  me  to  dinner  at  the  Colonial  be 
cause  she  was  afraid  they  used  coal  tar  and  formalde 
hyde — ha!  Finally  she  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  please 
keep  the  expenditures  of  the  house  and  my  own  expen 
ditures  separate,  and  that  was  the  end!" 

Jim's  great  laugh  burst  out,  and  Julia  dimpled  as  she 
asked  demurely: 

"What  on  earth  did  you  say?" 

"  Say  ?  I  asked  her  if  she  knew  I  built  The  Alexander, 
and  sent  her  packing!  And  now" — Miss  Toland  rubbed 
her  nose  with  the  gesture  Julia  knew  so  well — "now 
Miss  Pierce  is  temporarily  in  charge,  but  she  won't 
stay  there  nights,  so  the  clubs  are  given  up,"  she  ob 
served  discontentedly. 

"And  what's  the  news  from  Sally?"  Julia  pursued. 

"Just  the  loveliest  in  the  world,"  Mrs.  Toland  said. 
"Keith  is  working  like  a  little  Trojan;  and  Sally  sent  us 
a  perfectly  charming  description  of  the  pension,  and 
their  walks " 

"Yes,  and  how  she  couldn't  go  out  because  she 
hadn't  shoes,"  Jane  added,  half  in  malice,  half  in  fun. 


230  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Dont  look  so  shocked,  Mother  dear,  you  know  it's 
true.  And  the  landlady  cheating  them  out  of  a  whole 
week's  board — — •" 

"Gracious  me!"  said  Mrs.  Toland,  in  a  low  under 
tone  full  of  annoyance.  "Did  any  one  ever  hear  such 
nonsense!  All  that  is  past  history  now,  Janey,"  she  re 
minded  her  young  daughter,  in  her  usual  hopeful  voice. 
"Dad  sent  a  cheque,  like  the  dear,  helpful  daddy  he  is, 
and  now  everything's  lovely  again!" 

Julia  did  not  ask  for  Ted  until  she  saw  Barbara  alone 
for  a  moment  the  next  day.  It  was  about  ten  o'clock 
on  a  matchless  autumn  morning,  and  Julia,  stepping 
from  her  bedroom's  French  window  to  the  wide  sunny 
porch  that  ran  the  width  of  the  house,  saw  Barbara 
some  forty  feet  away  sitting  just  outside  her  own  win 
dow,  with  a  mass  of  hair  spread  to  the  sun. 

Julia  joined  her,  dragged  out  a  low,  light  chair  from 
Barbara's  room,  and  settled  herself  for  a  gossip. 

"Had  breakfast?"  Barbara  smiled.  "Jim  down 
stairs?" 

"Oh,  hours  ago!"  Julia  said  to  the  first  question,  and 
to  the  second,  with  the  young  wife's  conscious  blush, 
"Jim's  dressing.  He's  the  most  impossible  person  to 
get  started  in  the  morning!" 

Barbara  did  not  blush  but  she  felt  a  little  tug  at  her 
heart. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "I  thought  Jim  had  no  faults?" 

"Well,  he  hasn't,"  Julia  laughed.  And  then,  a  little 
confused  by  her  own  fervent  tone,  she  changed  the 
subject,  and  asked  about  Ted. 

"Why,  Ted's  happy,  and  rich,  and  simply  adored  by 
Bob  Carleton,"  Barbara  summarized  briefly,  in  a  rather 
dry  voice,  "but  Mother  and  Dad  never  will  get  over 
it,  and  I  suppose  Ted  herself  doesn't  like  the  idea  of 
that  other  wife— she  lives  at  The  Palace,  and  she's  got  a 
seven-year-old  girl!  It's  done,  you  know,  Julie,  and  of 
course  Ted's  accepted  everywhere;  she'll  go  to  the 
Brownings'  this  year,  and  Mrs.  Morton  has  asked  her  to 
receive  with  her  at  some  sort  of  dinner  reception  next 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  231 

month,  you'll  meet  her  everywhere.  But  I  do  think  it's 
terribly  hard  on  Mother  and  Dad!" 

"But  how  could  she,  that  great  big  black  creature?" 

"Oh,  she  loves  him  fast  enough!  It  was  perfectly 
legal,  of  course.  I  think  Dad  was  at  the  wedding,  and  I 
think  Richie  was,  but  we  girls  never  knew  anything 
until  it  was  all  over.  Mother  simply  announced  to  us 
one  night  that  Ted  was  married,  and  that  there  was  to  be 
no  open  break,  but  that  she  and  Dad  were  just  about 
sick!  I  never  saw  Mother  give  way  so!  She  said — and 
it's  true — that  if  ever  there  was  a  mother  who  deserved 
her  children's  confidence,  and  so  on !  All  the  newspapers 
blazed  about  it — Ted's  picture,  Bob's  picture — and,  as  I 
say,  society  welcomed  her  with  open  arms.  They've 
got  a  gorgeous  suite  at  the  St.  Francis,  and  Ted  really 
looks  stunning,  and  acts  as  if  she'd  done  something  very 
smart.  Con  says  that  when  she  called,  it  reminded  her 
of  the  second  act  of  a  bad  play.  Ted  came  here  with 
Bob,  one  Saturday  afternoon,  but  Mother  hasn't  been 
near  her!" 

"It  seems  too  bad,"  Julia  said  thoughtfully,  "when 
your  father  and  mother  are  always  so  sweet!" 

"There  must  be  some  reason  for  it,"  Barbara 
observed,  "I  suppose  we  were  all  spoiled  as  kids,  with 
our  dancing  schools  and  our  dresses  from  Paris,  and  so 
now  when  we  want  things  we  oughtn't  have,  we  just 
take  'em,  from  habit !  I  remember  a  governess  once,  a  nice 
enough  little  Danish  woman,  but  Ned  and  I  got  to 
gether  and  decided  we  wouldn't  stand  her,  and  Mother 
let  her  go.  It  seems  funny  now.  Mother  used  to  say 
that  never  in  her  life  did  she  allow  her  children  to  want 
anything  she  could  give  them;  but  I'm  not  at  all  sure 
that's  a  very  wise  ideal!" 

"Nor  I,"  said  Julia  earnestly.  Barbara  had  parted 
and  brushed  her  dark  hair  now,  and  as  she  gathered  it 
back,  the  ruthless  morning  sunlight  showed  lines  on  her 
pretty  face  and  faint  circles  about  her  eyes. 

"  Because  life  gets  in  and  gives  you  whacks,"  Barbara 
presently  pursued,  "you're  going  to  want  a  lot  of  things 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

you  can't  have  before  you  get  through,  and  it  only  makes 
it  harder!  Sally's  paying  for  her  jump  in  the  dark, 
poor  old  Ned  is  condemned  to  Yolo  City  and  Eva  for 
the  resc  of  his  life,  and  somehow  Ted's  the  saddest  of  all 
— so  confident  and  noisy  and  rich,  boasting  about  Bob's 
affection,  buying  everything  she  sees — and  so  young, 
somehow!  As  for  me,"  said  Barbara,  "my  only  con 
solation  is  that  nearly  every  family  has  one  of  me,  and 
some  have  more — a  nice-looking,  well-liked,  well-dressed 
young  woman,  who  has  cost  her  parents  an  enormous 
amount  of  money,  to  get — nowhere!" 

"Why,  Lady  Babbie!"  Julie  protested.  "It's  not 
like  you  to  talk  so!" 

Barbara  patted  the  hand  that  had  been  laid  upon  her 
knee,  and  laughed. 

"And  the  moral  of  that  is,  Ju,"  she  said,  "if  you  have 
children,  don't  spoil  them!  You've  had  horribly  hard 
times,  but  they've  given  you  some  sense.  As  for  Jim, 
he's  an  exception.  It's  a  miracle  he  wasn't  ruined — but 
he  wasn't!"  And  she  gathered  up  her  towels  and 
brushes  to  go  back  into  her  room.  "But  I  needn't  tell 
you  that,  Julie!"  said  she. 

"Ah,  well,  Jim!"  Julia  conceded,  smiling. 

Jim  had  no  faults,  of  course.  Yet  the  five-months 
wife  sighed  unconsciously  as  she  went  back  to  her  room. 
Jim  had  qualities  that  had  now  and  then  caused  a 
faint  little  cloud  to  drift  across  Julia's  life,  but  that 
sheer  loyalty  had  kept  her  from  defining,  even  in  her  in 
most  heart.  Now  this  talk  with  Barbara  had  suddenly 
seemed  to  make  them  clear.  Jim  was — spoiled  was  too 
harsh  a  word.  But  Jim  wanted  his  own  way,  in  little 
things  and  big — all  the  time.  The  world  just  now  for 
Jim  held  only  Julia.  What  she  wanted  he  wanted,  and, 
at  any  cost,  he  would  have.  If  her  gown  was  not  right 
for  the  special  occasion,  she  should  have  a  new  gown;  if 
the  motor  car  was  out  of  order,  telephone  for  another;  if 
the  steward  assured  them  that  there  was  not  another 
table  in  the  dining-room — tip  him,  tip  everybody,  make 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  233 

a  scene,  but  see  that  the  "Reserved"  card  comes  off 
somebody's  table,  and  that  the  Studdifords  are  seated 
there  in  triumph. 

At  first  Julia  had  only  laughed  at  her  lord's  masterful 
progress.  It  was  very  funny  to  her  to  see  how  quickly 
his  money  and  his  determination  won  him  his  way.  A 
great  deal  of  money  was  wasted,  of  course,  but  then,  this 
was  their  honeymoon,  and  some  day  they  would  settle 
down  and  spend  rationally.  Jim,  like  all  rich  men,  had 
an  absolute  faith  in  the  power  of  gold.  The  hall  maid 
must  come  in  and  hook  Mrs.  Studdiford's  gown;  oh,  and 
would  she  be  here  at,  say,  one  o'clock,  when  Mrs. 
Studdiford  came  home?  She  went  off  at  twelve,  eh? 
Well,  what  was  it  worth  to  her  to  stay  on  to-night,  until 
one?  Good.  And  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Studdiford  had 
torn  a  lace  gown  and  wanted  it  to-morrow;  could  the 
maid  mend  it  and  press  it  ?  She  didn't  think  so  ?  Well, 
come,  there  must  be  somebody  who  would  rush  it 
through  for  Mrs.  Studdiford  ?  Ah,  that  was  fine,  thank 
you  very  much,  that  would  do  very  nicely.  Or  perhaps 
it  was  a  question  of  theatre  tickets,  and  Jim  would  stop 
his  taxicab  on  Broadway  at  the  theatre's  door.  Here, 
boy!  Boy,  come  here!  Go  up  and  ask  him  what  his 
best  for  to-night  are?  There's  a  line  of  people  waiting, 
eh? — well,  go  up  and  ask  some  fellow  at  the  top  of  the  line 
what  it's  worth  to  him  to  get  two  seats  for  me.  Oh, 
fine.  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir.  Thank  you.  And 
here — boy ! 

"Do  you  think  the  entire  world  circles  about  your 
convenience,  Jim?"  Julia  asked  amusedly  one  day,  after 
some  such  episode. 

"Sure,"  he  answered,  grinning. 

"Jim,  you  don't  think  you  can  go  through  life  walking 
over  people  this  way?" 

"Why  not,  my  good  lady?" 

"Well,"  said  Julia  gravely,  "some  day  you  may  find 
you  want  something  you  cant  buy!" 

"There  ain't  no  such  animal,"  Jim  assured  her  cheer 
fully. 


234  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Only  a  trifling  cloud,  after  all,  Julia  assured  herself 
hardily.  But  there  was  a  constant  little  sensation  of 
uneasiness  in  her  heart.  She  tried  to  convince  herself 
that  the  sweetness  of  his  nature  had  not  been  under 
mined  by  this  ability  to  indulge  himself  however  fast 
his  fancies  shifted;  she  reasoned  that  because  so  many 
good  things  were  his,  he  need  not  necessarily  hold  them 
in  light  esteem.  Yet  the  thought  persisted  that  he 
knew  neither  his  own  mind  nor  his  own  heart;  there 
had  been  no  discipline  there,  no  hard-won  battles — there 
were  no  reserves. 

"I  call  that  simply  borrowing  trouble!"  said  Kennedy 
Scott  Marbury  healthily,  one  day  when  she  and  the 
tiny  Scott  were  lunching  with  Julia  at  the  hotel.  Ken 
nedy  was  close  to  her  second  confinement,  and  the  ladies 
had  lunched  in  Julia's  handsome  sitting-room.  "Lord, 
Julie  dear!  It  seems  sometimes  as  if  you  have  to  have 
something  in  this  world,"  Kennedy  went  on  cheerfully; 
"either  actual  trouble  or  mental  worries!  Anthony 
and  I  were  talking  finances  half  last  night:  we  decided 
that  we  can't  move  to  a  larger  house,  just  now,  and  so  on 
— and  we  both  said  what  would  it  be  like  to  be  free 
from  money  worries  for  ten  minutes " 

"But,  Ken,  don't  you  see  how  necessary  you  are  to 
each  other!"  said  Julia,  kneeling  before  the  chair  in 
which  her  fat  godson  was  seated,  and  displaying  a 
number  of  gold  chains  and  bracelets  for  his  amusement. 
"You  have  to  take  a  turn  at  everything — cooking  and 
sewing  and  caring  for  old  Sweetum  here — Anthony 
couldn't  get  on  without  you!" 

"And  I  suppose  you  think  Doctor  Studdiford  could 
find  twenty  wives  as  pretty  and  clever  and  charming  as 
you  are,  Ju?" 

"Fifty!"  Julia  answered. 

"Well,  now,  that  just  shows  what  a  little  idiot  you 
are!"  Mrs.  Marbury  scolded.  "Not  but  what  most 
women  feel  that  way  sooner  or  later,"  she  added,  less 
severely.  "I  remember  that  phase  very  well,  myself! 
But  the  thing  for  you  to  do,  Julie,  is  to  remember  that 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  235 

you're  exactly  the  same  woman  he  fell  in  love  with,  d'you 
see?  Just  mind  your  own  affairs,  and  be  happy  and 
busy,  and  try  not  to  fancy  things!" 

"What  a  sensible  old  thing  you  are,  Ken!"  said  Julia 
gratefully.  And  as  Kennedy  came  over  to  stand  near 
her,  Julia  gave  her  a  little  rub  with  her  head,  like  an 
affectionate  pony.  "I  think  it's  partly  this  hotel  that's 
demoralizing  me,"  Julia  went  on,  a  little  shamed.  "I 
feel  so  useless — getting  up,  eating,  dressing,  idling  about, 
and  going  to  bed  again.  Jim  has  his  work,  and  I'll  be 
glad  when  I  have  mine  again!" 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  THESE  days,  the  Studdifords  were  househunting  in 
all  of  Jim's  free  hours;  confining  their  efforts  almost 
entirely  to  the  city,  although  a  trip  to  San  Mateo  or 
Ross  Valley  made  a  welcome  change  now  and  then.  It 
was  not  until  late  in  October  that  the  right  house  was 
found,  on  Pacific  Avenue,  almost  at  the  end  of  the 
cable-car  line.  It  was  a  new  house,  large  and  square, 
built  of  dignified  dark-red  brick,  and  with  a  roomy  and 
beautiful  garden  about  it.  There  was  a  street  entrance, 
barred  by  an  iron  gate  elaborately  grilled,  and  giving 
upon  three  shallow  brick  steps  that  led  to  the  heavily 
carved  door.  On  the  side  street  was  an  entrance  for 
the  motor  car  and  tradespeople,  the  slope  of  the  hill 
giving  room  for  a  basement  kitchen,  with  its  accompany 
ing  storerooms  and  laundries. 

Upstairs,  the  proportions  of  the  rooms,  and  their 
exquisite  finish,  made  the  house  prominent  among  the 
city's  beautiful  homes.  Even  Jim  could  find  nothing  to 
change.  The  splendid  dark  simplicity  of  the  drawing- 
room  was  in  absolute  harmony  with  the  great  main  hall, 
and  in  charming  contrast  to  the  cheerful  library  and  the 
sun-flooded  morning-room.  The  dining-room  had  its 
own  big  fireplace,  with  leather-cushioned  ingle  seats, 
and  quaint,  twinkling,  bottle-paned  windows  above.  On 
the  next  floor  the  four  big  bedrooms,  with  their  three 
baths  and  three  dressing-rooms  and  countless  closets, 
were  all  bright  and  sunny,  with  shining  cream-coloured 
panelling,  cretonne  papers  in  gay  designs  of  flowers  and 
birds,  and  crystal  door  knobs.  Upstairs  again  were 
maids'  rooms,  storerooms  lined  in  cedar,  and  more 
baths. 

"Perfect!"  said  Jim  radiantly,  on  the  afternoon  when 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  237 

the  Studdifords  first  inspected  the  house.  "It's  just 
Jexactly  right,  and  I'm  strong  for  it!"  He  came  over  to 
Jjulia,  who  was  thoughtfully  staring  out  of  a  drawing- 
liroom  window.  Her  exquisite  beauty  was  to-day  set  off 
Jby  a  long  loose  sealskin  coat,  for  the  winter  was  early, 
land  a  picturesque  little  motor  bonnet,  also  of  seal,  with 
la  velvet  rose  against  her  soft  hair.  "Little  bit  sad 
tto-day,  sweetheart?"  Jim  asked,  kissing  the  tip  of  her 
[ear. 

"  No — o.  I  was  just  thinking  what  a  lovely,  sheltered 
^backyard!"  Julia  said  sensibly,  raising  her  blue  eyes. 
JBut  she  had  brightened  perceptibly  at  his  tenderness. 

tl  love  you,  Jim,"  she  said,  very  simply. 
"And  I  adore  you!"  Jim  answered,  his  arms  about 
er.     "I've   been   thinking   all   day   how   rotten   that 
.Bounded  this  morning!"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone.    "I'm 
jso  sorry!" 

"As  if  it  was  your  fault!"  Julia  protested  generously. 
•And  a  moment  later  she  charmed  him  by  declaring  her- 
jself  to  be  entirely  satisfied  with  this  enchanting  house, 
land  by  entering  vigorously  upon  the  question  of  furnish- 
|ings. 

The  little  episode  to  which  Doctor  Studdiford  had 
I  made  a  somewhat  embarrassed  allusion  had  taken  place 
Jin  their  rooms  at  the  hotel  that  morning,  while  they 
I  were  breakfasting.  Plans  for  a  little  dinner  party  were 
|  progressing  pleasantly,  over  the  omelette  and  toast, 
i  when  Jim  chanced  to  suggest  that  a  certain  Mrs.  Pope 
be  included  among  the  guests. 

"Oh,  Jim — not  Mrs.  Jerry  Pope?"  Julia  questioned, 
f  wide  eyed. 

"Yes,  but  she  calls  herself  Mrs.  Elsie  Carroll  Pope 
now.  Why  not?" 

"Oh,  Jim— but  she's  divorced!' 

"Well,  so  are  lots  of  other  people!" 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  it  was  such  a  horrid  divorce, 
i  Jim!" 

"Horrid  how?" 


238  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Oh,  some  other  man,  and  letters  in  the  papers,  and 
Mr.  Pope  kept  both  the  children!  It  was  awful!" 

"Oh,  come,  Ju — she's  a  nice  little  thing,  awfully  witty 
and  clever.  Why  go  out  of  your  way  to  knock  her ! " 

"I'm  not  going  out  of  my  way,"  Julia  answered  with 
dignity.  "But  she  was  a  great  friend  of  Mary  Chet- 
wynde,  who  used  to  teach  at  The  Alexander,  and  she  came 
out  there  two  or  three  times,  and  she's  a  noisy,  yelling 
sort  of  woman — and  her  hair  is  dyed — yes,  it  is,  Jim!" 

"Lord,  you  women  do  love  to  rip  each  other  up  the 
back!"  Jim  smiled  lazily,  as  he  wheeled  his  chair  about, 
and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"I'm  not  ripping  her  up  the  back  at  all,"  Julia  pro 
tested  with  spirit.  "But  she's  not  a  lady,  and  I  hate 
the  particular  set  she  goes  with " 

"Not  a  lady — ha!"  Jim  ejaculated.  "She  was  a 
Cowdry." 

Julia  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  opened  a  fat  letter 
from  Sally  Borroughs  in  Europe,  that  had  come  in  her 
morning's  mail. 

"Ask  her  by  all  means  to  dinner,"  she  said  calmly. 
"Only  don't  expect  me  to  admire  her  and  approve  of 
her,  Jim,  for  I  won't  do  it;  I  know  too  much  about 
her!" 

"It's  just  possible  Mrs.  Pope  isn't  waiting  for  your 
admiration  and  approval,  my  dear,"  Jim  said,  nettled. 
"But  I  doubt,  whatever  she  knew  of  you,  if  she  would 
speak  so  unkindly  about  you!" 

Julia  turned  as  scarlet  as  if  a  whip  had  fallen  across 
her  face.  She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  fixed, 
horrified  eyes,  then  crushed  her  letter  together  with  a 
spasmodic  gesture  of  the  hands,  and  let  it  fall  as  she 
went  blindly  toward  the  bedroom  door.  Jim  sat  star 
ing  after  her,  puzzled  at  first,  then  with  the  red  blood 
surging  into  his  face.  He  dropped  his  cigarette  and  his 
newspaper,  and  for  perhaps  three  minutes  there  was  no 
sound  in  the  apartment  but  the  coffee  bubbling  in  the 
percolator,  and  the  occasional  clank  of  the  radiator. 

Then  Jim  jumped  up  suddenly  and  flung  open  the 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  239 

door  of  the  bedroom.  Julia  was  sitting  at  her  dressing- 
table,  one  elbow  resting  upon  it,  and  her  head  dropped 
on  her  hand.  She  raised  heavy  eyes  and  looked  at  him. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Ju,"  Jim  said,  solicitous  and  im 
patient.  "You  know  I  didn't  mean  anything  by  that. 
I  wouldn't  be  such  a  cad.  You  know  I  wouldn't  say  a 
thing  like  that — I  couldn't.  Come  on  back  and  finish 
your  coffee." 

But  he  did  not  kiss  her;  he  did  not  put  his  arm  about 
her;  and  Julia  felt  curiously  weary  and  cold  as  she  came 
slowly  back  to  her  place.  Jim  immediately  lighted  a 
fresh  cigarette,  and  began  to  rattle  away  somewhat 
nervously  of  his  plans  for  the  day.  He  was  going  over 
to  the  Oakland  Hospital  to  look  at  his  man  with  the 
spine — better  not  try  to  meet  for  lunch.  But  how 
about  that  Pacific  Avenue  house?  If  Julia  took  the 
motor  and  stopped  at  the  agent's  for  the  key,  he  would 
meet  her  there  at  four — how  about  it  ? 

Agreed.  Gosh!  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  Jim 
had  to  get  out  to  the  Children's  Hospital  before  he  went 
to  Oakland.  Julia  had  a  quick  kiss,  and  was  advised 
to  take  good  care  of  herself.  Then  Jim  was  gone,  and 
she  could  fling  her  arm  across  the  table  and  sob  as  if 
her  heart  would  break. 

Julia  cried  for  a  long  time.  Then  she  stopped  reso 
lutely,  and  spent  a  long  half  hour  in  serious  thought, 
her  fingers  absently  tracing  the  threads  of  the  table 
cloth  with  a  fork,  her  thoughts  flying. 

Presently  she  roused  herself,  telephoned  Jim's  chauf 
feur  and  the  agent  of  the  Pacific  Avenue  house,  bathed 
her  reddened  eyes,  and  inspected  her  new  furs,  just 
home  from  the  shop.  Now  and  then  her  breast  rose 
with  a  long  sigh,  but  she  did  not  cry  again. 

"I'll  wear  my  new  furs,"  she  decided  soberly. .  "Jim 
loves  me  to  look  pretty.  And  I  must  cheer  up;  he  hates 
me  to  be  blue!  Who  can  I  lunch  with,  to  cheer  up? 
Aunt  Sanna!  I'll  get  a  cold  chicken  and  some  cake, 
and  go  out  to  The  Alexander!" 

So  the  outward  signs  of  the  storm  were  obliterated, 


240  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  no  one  knew  of  the  scar  that  Julia  carried  from  that 
day  in  her  heart.  Only  a  tiny,  tiny  scar,  but  enough  to 
remind  her  now  and  then  with  cold  terror  that  even 
into  her  Paradise  the  serpent  could  thrust  his  head, 
enough  to  prove  to  her  bitter  satisfaction  that  there  was 
already  something  that  Jim's  money  could  not  buy. 

The  furnishing  of  the  Pacific  Avenue  house  pro 
ceeded  apace — it  was  an  eminently  gratifying  house  to 
furnish,  and  Jim  and  Julia  almost  wished  their  labours 
not  so  light.  All  rugs  looked  well  on  those  beautiful 
floors;  all  pictures  were  at  their  best  against  the  dull 
rich  tones  of  the  walls.  Did  Mrs.  Studdiford  like  the 
soft  blue  curtains  in  the  library,  or  the  dull  gold,  or  the 
coffee-coloured  tapestry?  Mrs.  Studdiford,  an  ex 
quisite  little  figure  of  indecision,  in  a  great  Elizabethan 
chair  of  carved  black  oak,  didn't  really  know;  they 
were  all  so  beautiful!  She  wondered  why  the  blue 
wouldn't  be  lovely  in  the  breakfast  room,  if  they  used 
the  gold  here?  Then  she  wouldn't  use  the  English 
cretonne  in  the  breakfast  room?  Oh,  yes,  of  course, 
she  had  forgotten  the  English  cretonne! 

At  last  it  was  all  done,  from  the  two  stained  little 
Roman  marble  benches  outside  the  front  door,  to  the 
monogrammed  sheets  in  the  attic  cedar  closet.  The 
drawing-room  had  its  grand  piano,  its  great  mahogany 
davenport  facing  the  fire,  its  rich  dark  rugs,  its  subdued 
gleam  of  copper  and  crystal,  dull  blue  china  and  bright 
enamel.  The  little  reception  room  was  gay  with 
yellow-gold  silk  and  teakwood;  Jim's  library  was  se 
verely  handsome  with  its  dark  leather  chairs  and  rows 
of  dark  leather  bindings.  A  dozen  guests  could  sit 
about  the  long  oak  table  in  the  dining-room;  the  great 
sideboard  with  its  black  oak  cupids  and  satyrs,  and  its 
enormous  claw  feet,  struck  perhaps  the  only  pretentious 
note  in  the  house.  A  wide-lipped  bowl,  in  clear  yellow 
glass,  held  rosy  pippins  or  sprawling  purple  grapes  on 
the  table  in  the  window,  the  sideboard  carried  old  jugs 
and  flagons  in  blackened  silver  or  dull  pottery. 


i. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  241 

Upstairs  the  sunny  perfection  of  the  bedrooms  was 
not  marred  by  the  need  of  so  much  as  a  cake  of  violet 
soap.  Julia  revelled  in  details  here:  flowers  in  the  bed 
rooms  must  match  the  hangings;  there  must  be  so 
many  fringed  towels  and  so  many  plain,  in  each  bath 
room.  She  amused  as  well  as  edified  Jim  with  her 
sedate  assurance  in  the  matter  of  engaging  maids;  her 
cheeks  would  grow  very  pink  when  interviews  were 
afoot,  but  she  never  lost  her  air  of  calm. 

"We  are  as  good  as  they  are,"  said  Julia,  "but  how 
hard  it  is  to  remember  it  when  you  are  talking  to  them ! " 

Presently  Foo  Ting  was  established  supreme  in  the 
kitchen,  Lizzie  secured  as  waitress,  and  Ellie,  Lizzie's 
sister,  engaged  to  do  upstairs  work.  Chadwick,  Jim's 
chauffeur,  was  accustomed  occasionally  to  enact  also 
the  part  of  valet,  so  that  it  was  with  a  real  luxury  of 
service  that  the  young  Studdifords  settled  down  for  the 
winter. 

Julia  had  anticipated  this  settling  as  preceding  a  time 
of  quiet,  when  she  and  Jim  should  loiter  over  their 
snug  little  dinners,  should  come  to  know  the  comforts 
of  their  own  chairs,  at  each  side  of  the  library  fire,  and 
laugh  and  cry  over  some  old  book,  or  talk  and  dream 
while  they  stared  into  the  coals.  The  months  were 
racing  about  to  her  first  wedding  anniversary,  yet  she 
felt  that  she  really  knew  Jim  only  in  a  certain  super 
ficial,  holiday  sense — she  knew  what  cocktail  he  liked 
best,  of  course,  and  what  seats  in  the  theatre;  she  was 
quite  sure  of  the  effect  of  her  own  beauty  upon  him. 
But  she  longed  for  the  real  Jim,  the  soul  that  was  hidden 
somewhere  under  his  gay  mask,  under  the  trim,  clean 
shaven,  smiling  face.  When  there  was  less  confusion, 
less  laughing  and  interrupting  and  going  about,  then  she 
would  find  her  husband,  Julia  thought,  and  they  would 
have  long  silent  hours  together  in  which  to  build  the 
foundation  of  their  life. 

Her  beautiful  earnest  face  came  to  have  a  somewhat 
strained  and  wistful  look,  as  the  weeks  fled  past  with 
out  bringing  the  quiet,  empty  time  for  which  she  longed. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

All  about  her  now  stretched  the  glittering  spokes  of  the 
city's  great  social  wheel,  every  mail  brought  her  a  flood 
of  notes,  every  quarter  hour  summoned  her  to  the  tele 
phone,  every  fraction  of  the  day  had  its  appointed 
pleasure.  Julia  must  swiftly  eliminate  from  her  life 
much  of  the  rich  feminine  tradition  of  housewifery;  it 
was  not  for  her  to  darn  her  husband's  hose,  to  set  ex 
quisite  patches  in  thinning  table  linen,  to  gather  flowers 
for  jars  and  vases.  Julia  never  saw  Jim's  clothing  ex 
cept  when  he  was  wearing  it,  the  table  linen  was  Ellie's 
affair,  and  Lizzie  had  the  entire  lower  floor  bright  and 
nagrant  with  fresh  flowers  before  Jim  and  Julia  came 
down  to  breakfast.  Young  Mrs.  Studdiford  found  her 
self  readily  assuming  the  society  woman's  dry,  brief 
mannerisms.  Jim  used  to  grin  sometimes  when  he 
heard  her  at  the  telephone: 

"Oh,  that  would  be  charming,  Mrs.  Babcock,"  Julia 
would  say,  "if  you'll  let  me  run  away  at  three,  for  I 
must  positively  keep  an  appointment  with  Carroll  at 
three,  if  I'm  to  have  my  gown  for  dear  Mrs.  Morton's 
bal  masque  Friday  night.  And  if  I'm  just  a  tiny  bit 
late  you  won't  be  cross?  For  we  all  do  German  at 
twelve  now,  you  know,  and  it  will  run  over  the  hour! 
Oh,  you're  very  sweet!  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Talcott  spoke  to 
me  about  it,  but  we  can't — we're  both  so  sorry,  but  this 
week  seems  to  be  just  full — no,  she  said  that,  but  I 
told  her  that  next  week  was  just  as  bad,  so  she's  to  let 
me  know  about  the  week  after.  Oh,  I  know  she  is. 
And  I  did  want  to  give  her  a  little  tea,  but  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  a  moment!  I  think  perhaps  I'll  ask  Mrs 
Castle  to  let  us  dine  with  her  some  other  time,  and  give 
Betty  a  little  dinner  Monday " 

And  so  on  and  on,  in  the  quick  harassed  voice  of  one 
who  must  meet  obligations. 

"You're  a  great  social  success,  Ju,"  Jim  said,  smiling, 
one  morning. 

Julia  made  a  little  grimace  over  her  letters. 

"Oh,  come  off,  now!"  her  husband  railed  good- 
naturedly.  "You  know  you  love  it.  You  know  you 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  245 

ropes  of  brilliant  flowers,  and  who  looked  like  a  little 
May  Queen  in  her  radiant  bloom,  looked  at  the  new 
comer  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  with  a  clearing 
face: 

"Hannah!  Of  course  I  know  you.  Mrs.  Palmer, 
may  I  present  Doctor  Studdiford?" 

Jim  smilingly  shook  hands,  and  as  the  rest  of  the 
group  melted  away,  Mrs.  Palmer  explained  that  her 
husband's  business  was  in  Manila,  but  she  was  bringing 
up  her  two  little  children  to  visit  her  parents  in  Oak 
land. 

"  She's  extremely  pretty,"  Jim  said,  when  he  and  Julia 
were  alone  in  their  luxurious  stateroom.  "  Who  is  she  ? " 

"I  don't  know  why  I  supposed  you  knew  that  she  is 
one  of  Mark's  sisters,"  Julia  said,  colouring.  "I  saw 
something  of  them  all,  after — afterward,  you  know." 

"Oh!"  Jim's  face,  which  he  chanced  to  be  washing, 
also  grew  red;  he  scowled  as  he  plunged  it  again  into  the 
towel.  Julia  proceeded  with  her  own  lunch  toilet  in 
silence,  humming  a  little  now  and  then,  but  the  bright 
ness  was  gone  from  the  day  for  her;  the  swift-flying  green 
water  outside  the  window  had  turned  to  lead,  the  im 
maculate  little  apartment  was  bleak  and  bare.  Jim  did 
not  speak  as  they  went  down  to  lunch,  nor  was  he  him 
self  when  they  met  again,  after  a  game  of  auction,  at 
dinner.  In  fact,  this  marked  Julia's  first  acquaintance 
with  a  new  side  of  his  character. 

For  Jim's  sunny  nature  was  balanced  by  an  occasional 
mood  so  dark  as  to  make  him  a  different  man  while  it 
lasted.  Barbara  had  once  lightly  hinted  this  to  Julia— 
"Jim  was  glooming  terribly,  and  did  nothing  but  snarl" 
—and  Miss  Toland  had  confirmed  the  hint  when  she 
asked  him,  at  Christmas  dinner,  when  he  and  Julia  had 
been  eight  months  man  and  wife:  "Well,  Jim,  never  a 
blue  devil  once,  eh?" 

"Never  a  one.  Aunt  Sanna!"  Jim  had  responded 

"What  should  he  have  blue  devils  about?"  Julia  had 
demanded  on  thisoccasion,presentingherself  indignantly 


246  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

to  them,  and  looking  in  her  black  velvet  and  white  lace 
like  a  round-eyed  child. 

She  thought  of  that  happy  moment  this  afternoon, 
with  a  little  chill  at  her  heart.  For  there  was  no  doubt 
that  Jim  had  blue  devils  now.  When  she  came  back  to 
her  stateroom  at  six  o'clock,  he  was  already  there,  flung 
across  the  bed,  his  arms  locked  under  his  head,  his  som 
bre  eyes  on  the  ceiling,  where  green  water-lights  were 
playing. 

"Jim,  don't  you  feel  well,  dear?" 

"Perfectly  well,  thank  you!"  Jim  said  coldly. 

Slightly  angered  by  his  tone,  Julia  fell  silent,  busied 
herself  with  her  brushes,  hooked  on  a  gown  of  demure 
cherry  colour  and  gray,  caught  up  a  great  silky  scarf. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Jim?"  she  said  then, 
politely. 

"Just — let  me  alone!"  Jim  answered,  without  stirring. 

Hurt  to  the  quick,  and  with  sudden  colour  in  her  face, 
Julia  left  the  room.  She  held  her  head  high,  but  she 
felt  almost  a  little  sick  with  the  shock.  Five  minutes 
later  she  was  the  centre  of  a  chattering  group  on  the 
deck.  A  milky  twilight  held  the  sea,  the  skyline  was  no 
longer  to  be  discerned  in  the  opal  spaces  all  about  them, 
the  ship  moved  over  a  vast  plain  of  pearl-coloured  smooth 
waters.  Where  staterooms  were  lighted,  long  fingers  of 
rosy  brightness  fell  across  the  deck;  here  and  there  in  the 
shelter  of  a  bit  of  wall  were  dark  blots  that  were  pas 
sengers,  wrapped  and  reclining,  and  unrecognizable  in 
the  gloom. 

Julia  and  a  young  man  named  Manners  began  to  pace 
the  deck.  Mr.  Manners  was  a  poet,  and  absorbed  in 
the  fascinating  study  of  his  own  personality,  but  he 
served  Julia's  need  just  now,  and  never  noticed  her 
abstraction  and  indifference.  He  described  to  Julia  the 
birth  of  his  own  soul,  when  he  was  what  the  world  con 
sidered  only  a  clumsy,  unthinking  lad  of  seventeen,  and 
Julia  listened  as  a  pain-racked  fever  patient  might  listen 
with  vague  distress  to  the  noise  of  distant  hammers. 

Presently  they  were  all  at  dinner;  soup,  but  no  Jim; 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  247 

fish,  but  no  Jim.  Here  was  Jim  at  last,  pale,  freshly 
shaven,  slipping  into  his  place  with  a  muttered  apology 
and  averted  eyes.  With  a  sense  of  impending  calamity 
upon  her,  Julia  struggled  through  her  dinner;  after  a 
while  she  found  herself  holding  cards,  under  a  bright 
light;  after  a  while  again,  she  reached  her  stateroom.  

Julia  turned  up  the  light.     The  room  was  close  anci    \ 
empty,    littered    with    the    evidences    of   Jim's    hasty 
toilet.     She  opened  a  window,  and  the  sweet  salt  air 
filtered    in,    infinitely    soothing    and    refreshing.     She 

began  to  go  about  the  room,  picking  up  Jim's  clothes, j 

and  putting  the  place  in  order.  Once  or  twice  her  face 
twitched  with  pain,  and  once  she  stopped  and  pressed 
Jim's  coat  to  her  heart  with  both  hands,  as  if  to  stop  a 
wound,  but  she  did  not  cry,  and  presently  began  her 
usual  preparations  for  bed  in  her  usual  careful  fashion. 
The  cherry-coloured  gown  had  been  put  away,  and 
Julia,  in  an  embroidered  white  kimono  almost  stiff 
enough  to  stand  alone,  was  putting  her  rings  into  their 
little  cases  when  Jim  came  in.  She  looked  at  him  over 
her  shoulder. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Jim?"  she  asked  quietly, 
noticing  his  white  face,  his  tumbled  hair,  and  a  certain 
disorder  in  his  appearance.  Jim  did  not  answer,  and 
after  a  puzzled  moment  Julia  repeated  her  question. 

"Up  on  deck,"  Jim  said,  a  bitter  burst  of  words 
breaking  through  his  ugly  silence.  He  dropped  into  a 
chair,  and  put  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Julia  watched  him  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  while 
she  went  on  with  her  preparations.  She  wound  her 
little  watch  and  put  it  under  her  pillow;  she  folded  the 
counterpanes  neatly  back  from  both  beds,  and  got  out 
her  slippers.  Then  she  sat  down  to  put  trees  into  the 
little  satin  slippers  she  had  been  wearing,  and  carried 
them  to  the  closet. 

Suddenly  Jim  sat  up,  dropped  his  hands,  and  stared 
at  her  haggardly. 

"Julia,"  said  he  hoarsely,  "I've  been  up  there  think 
ing — I'm  going  mad,  I  guess " 


248  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

He  stopped,  and  there  was  silence.  Julia  stood  still, 
looking  at  him. 

"Tell  me/'  Jim  said,  "was  it  Mark?" 

The  hideous  suddenness  of  it  struck  Julia  like  a 
bodily  blow;  she  stood  as  if  she  had  been  turned  to  ice. 
A  great  weight  seemed  to  seize  her  limbs,  a  sickening 
vertigo  attacked  her.  She  had  a  suffocating  sense  that 
time  was  passing,  that  ages  were  going  by  in  that  bright, 
glaring  room,  with  the  sea  air  coming  in  a  shuttered 
window,  and  the  two  beds,  with  their  smooth  white 

pillows,  so  neatly  turned  down Still,  she  could  not 

speak — not  yet. 

"  Yes,  it  was  Mark,"  she  said  tonelessly  and  gently, 
after  a  long  silence.  "  I  thought  you  knew." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  Jim  said,  choking.  He  flung  his 
hands  madly  in  the  air  and  got  on  his  feet.  Then,  as  if 
ashamed,  through  all  the  boiling  surge  of  his  emotions, 
at  this  loss  of  control,  he  rammed  his  hands  into  the 
pockets  of  his  light  overcoat,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room.  "You — you — you!"  he  said,  in  a  sort  of  wail, 
and  in  another  moment,  muttering  some  incoherency 
about  air,  he  had  snatched  up  his  cap  and  was  gone  again. 

Julia  slowly  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down  on  her 
bed.  She  felt  as  a  person  who  had  swallowed  a  dose  of 
poison  might  feel:  agonies  were  soon  to  begin  that  would 
drive  the  life  from  her  body,  but  she  could  not  feel  them 
yet.  Instead  she  felt  tired,  tired  beyond  all  bearing, 
and  the  lights  hurt  her  eyes.  She  slipped  her  kimono 
from  her,  stepped  out  of  her  slippers,  and  plunged  the 
room  into  utter  darkness.  Like  a  tired  child  she  crept 
into  bed,  and  with  a  great  sigh  dropped  her  head  on  the 
pillow. 

The  ship  plowed  on,  its  great  lights  cutting  a  steady 
course  over  the  black  water,  its  whole  bulk  quivering  to 
the  heartbeat  of  the  mighty  engines;  whispered  good- 
nights  and  laughing  good-nights  were  said  in  the  narrow, 
hot  hallways.  Lights  went  out  in  cabin  after  cabin. 
The  decks  were  dark  and  deserted.  Below  stairs  the 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  249 

world  that  never  slept  hummed  like  a  beehive;  squads  of 
men  were  washing  floors,  laying  tables;  the  kitchen  was 
as  hot  and  busy  as  at  midday;  the  engine  rooms  were 
filled  with  silhouetted  forms  briskly  coming  and  going. 
Up  on  one  of  the  dark  decks,  with  the  soft  mist  blowing 
in  his  face,  Jim  spent  the  long  night,  his  folded  arms 
resting  on  the  rail,  his  sombre  eyes  following  the  silent 
rush  of  waters,  and  in  her  cabin  Julia  lay  wide  awake 
and  battling  with  despair. 

She  had  thought  the  old  dim  horror  over  and  done 
with.  Now  she  knew  it  never  would  be  that;  now  she 
knew  there  was  no  escape.  The  happy  little  castle  she 
had  builded  for  herself  fell  about  her  like  a  house  of 
cards;  she  was  dishonoured,  she  was  abased,  she  was 
powerless.  In  telling  Jim  her  whole  history,  on  that 
terrible  night  at  the  settlement  house,  she  had  flung 
down  her  arms;  there  was  no  new  extenuating  fact  to 
add  to  the  story;  it  was  all  stale  and  unchangeable;  it 
must  stand  before  their  eyes  forever,  a  hideous  fact. 
And  it  seemed  to  Julia,  tossing  restlessly  in  the  dark, 
that  a  thousand  sleeping  menaces  rose  now  to  terrify 
her.  Perhaps  Hannah  Palmer  knew!  Julia's  breath 
stopped,  her  whole  body  shook  with  terror.  And  if 
Hannah,  why  not  others?  A  letter  of  Mark's  to  some 
one — to  any  one — might  be  in  existence  now,  waiting  its 
hour  to  appear,  and  to  disgrace  her,  and  Jim,  and  all 
who  loved  them! 

And  was  it  for  this,  she  asked  herself  bitterly,  that  she 
had  so  risen  from  the  past,  so  studied  and  struggled  and 
aspired?  Had  she  been  mad  all  these  years  to  forget 
the  danger  in  which  she  stood,  to  imagine  that  she  had 
buried  her  tragedy  too  deep  for  discovery?  Had  she 
been  mad  to  marry  Jim,  her  dear,  sweet,  protecting  old 
Jim,  who  was  always  so  good  to  her? 

But  at  the  thought  of  him,  and  of  her  bitter  need  of 
him  in  this  desolate  hour,  Julia  fell  to  violent  crying,  and 
after  her  tears  she  drifted  into  a  deep  sleep,  her  lashes 
wet,  and  her  breast  occasionally  rising  with  a  sharp  sigh 
as  a  child's  might 


250  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

When  she  awakened,  dawn  was  breaking,  the  level 
waste  of  the  sea  was  pearl  colour  and  rose  under  a 
slowly  rising  mist.  Julia  bathed  and  dressed,  and  went 
out  to  the  deck,  where,  with  a  great  plaid  wrapped  about 
her,  she  might  watch  the  miracle  of  the  birth  of  day. 
And  as  the  warming  rays  of  the  sun  enveloped  her,  and 
the  newly  washed  decks  dried  under  its  touch,  and  as 
signs  of  life  began  to  be  heard  all  about,  slamming  doors 
and  gay  greetings,  laughter  and  the  crisp  echoes  of  feet, 
hope  and  self-confidence  crept  again  into  her  heart.  She 
was  young,  after  all,  and  pretty,  and  Jim's  very  agony 
of  jealousy  only  proved  that  he  loved  her.  She  had 
never  deceived  him,  he  could  not  accuse  her  of  one 
second's  weakness  there.  He  had  only  had  a  sudden, 
terrible  revelation  of  the  truth  he  had  known  so  long;  it 
could  not  affect  him  permanently,, 

"  Going  down  ? "  said  a  voice  gayly. 

Julia  turned  to  smile  upon  a  group  of  cheerful  ac 
quaintances. 

"Thinking  about  it,"  she  smiled. 

"Where's  Himself?"  somebody  asked. 

"  Still  asleep — the  lazy  bones ! "  Julia  answered  calmly. 
They  all  went  downstairs  together,  and  Julia  was  per 
haps  a  little  ashamed  to  find  the  odours  of  coffee  and 
bacon  delightful,  and  to  enjoy  her  breakfast. 

Afterward  she  went  straight  to  her  room,  not  at  all 
surprised  to  find  Jim  there,  flung,  dressed  as  he  was, 
across  his  bed,  and  breathing  heavily.  Julia  studied 
him  for  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  she  set  about  the 
somewhat  difficult  task  of  rousing  him,  quite  her  capable 
wifely  little  self  when  there  was  something  she  could  do 
for  him. 

"Jim!  You'll  have  to  get  these  damp  things  off,  dear! 
Come,  Jim,  you  can't  sleep  this  way.  Wake  up,  Jim!" 

Drowsily,  heavily,  he  consented  to  be  partially  un 
dressed,  and  covered  with  a  warm  rug.  Julia  grew 
quite  breathless  over  her  exertions,  tucked  him  in  care- 
fully.^ 

"I'm  going  to  tell  the  chambermaid  not  to  come  in 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  251 

until  I  ring,  Jim.  But  shall  I  send  you  in  a  cup  of 
coffee  ?"? 

"Ha!"  Jim  said,  already  asleep. 

"  Do  you  want  some  coffee,  Jim  ? " 

"No— no  coffee!" 

Julia  tiptoed  about  the  room  a  moment  more,  took  her 
little  sewing  basket  and  a  new  magazine,  and  giving  a 
departing  look  at  her  husband,  found  his  eyes  wide  open 
and  watching  her.  Instantly  a  rush  of  tears  pressed  be 
hind  her  eyelids,  and  she  felt  herself  grow  weak  and  con 
fused. 

"Thank  you  for  fixing  me  up  so  nicely,  darling,"  Jim 
said  meekly. 

"Oh,  you're  welcome!"  Julia  answered,  with  a  des 
perate  effort  to  appear  calm. 

"Will  you  kiss  me,  Julie?"  Jim  pursued,  and  a  second 
later  she  was  on  her  knees  beside  him,  their  arms  were 
locked  together,  and  their  lips  met  as  if  they  had  never 
kissed  each  other  before. 

"You  little  angel,"  Jim  said,  "what  a  beast  I  am!  As 
if  life  hadn't  been  hard  enough  for  you  without  my  add 
ing  to  it!  Oh,  but  what  a  night  I've  had!  And  you'll 
forgive  me,  won't  you,  sweetheart,  for  I  love  you  so  ? " 

Julia  put  her  face  down  and  cried  stormily,  her  wet 
face  pressed  against  his,  his  arms  holding  her  close.  After 
a  while,  when  the  sobs  lessened,  they  began  to  talk  to 
gether,  and  then  laugh  together  in  the  exquisite  relief 
of  being  reconciled.  Then  Jim  went  to  sleep,  and  Julia 
sat  beside  him,  his  hand  in  hers,  her  eyes  idly  following 
the  play  of  broken  bright  lights  that  quivered  on  the 
wall. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  big  chair,  feeling  weary  and 
spent,  broken,  but  utterly  at  peace.  From  that  hour  life 
was  changed  to  Her,  and  she  dimly  felt  the  change,  ac 
cepted  it  as  stoically  as  an  Indian  might  the  loss  of  a 
limb,  and  adjusted  herself  to  all  it  implied.  If  Jim  was 
a  little  less  her  god,  he  was  still  hers,  hers  in  some  new 
relationship  that  appealed  to  what  was  protective  and  ma 
ternal  in  her.  And  if  the  burden  of  her  secret  had  grown 


252  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

inconceivably  heavy  for  her  to  bear,  she  knew  by  some 
instinct  that  this  burst  of  jealous  frenzy  had  somehow 
lightened  its  weight  for  Jim;  she,  not  he,  would  hence 
forth  pay  the  price. 

"And  life  isn't  easy  and  gay,  say  what  you  will," 
thought  Julia  philosophically.  "There  is  no  use 
grumbling  and  groaning,  and  saying  to  yourself,  'Oh,  if 
only  it  wasn't  just  this  or  that  thing  worrying  me!'  for 
there  is  always  this  or  that.  Kennedy  and  Bab  think  I 
am  the  most  fortunate  girl  in  the  world,  and  yet,  to  be 
able  to  go  back  ten  years,  and  live  a  few  weeks  over 
again,  I'd  give  up  everything  I  have,  even  Jim.  Just 
to  start  square!  Just  to  feel  that  wretched  thing  wasn't 
there  like  a  layer  of  mud  under  everything  I  do,  making 
it  a. farce  for  me  to  talk  of  uplifting  girls  by  settlement 
work,  as  people  are  eternally  making  me  talk!  Or  if 
only  every  one  knew  it,  it  would  be  easier,  for  then  I 
would  feel  at  least  that  I  stood  on  my  own  feet!  But 
now,  of  course,  that's  impossible,  on  Jim's  account. 
What  a  horrible  scandal  it  would  be,  what  a  horrible 
thing  it  isy  that  any  girl  can  cloud  her  own  life  in  this 
way! 

"As  for  boys,  I  suppose  mighty  few  of  them  are  pure 
by  the  time  they're  through  college,  by  the  time  they're 
through  High  School,  perhaps!  It's  all  queer,  for  that 
involves  girls  and  women,  too,  thousands  of  them! 
And  how  absurd  it  would  be  to  bring  such  a  charge  as 
this  against  a  man,  ten  years  after  it  happened,  when  he 
was  married  and  a  respectable  citizen! 

"Well,  society  is  very  queer;  civilization  hasn't 
got  very  far;  sometimes  I  think  virtue  is  a  good  deal 
of  an  accident,  and  that  people  take  themselves  pretty 
seriously!" 

And  so  musing,  Julia  dozed,  and  wakened,  and 
dozed  again.  But  in  her  heart  had  been  sowed  the  seed 
that  was  never  to  be  uprooted,  the  little  seed  of  doubt: 
doubt  of  the  social  structure,  doubt  of  its  grave  au 
thorities,  its  awe-inspired  interpreters.  What  were  the 
mummers  all  so  busy  about  and  how  little  their  mum- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  253 

mery  mattered!  This  shall  be  permitted,  this  shall  not 
be  permitted;  what  is  in  your  heart  and  brain  concerns 
us  not  at  all;  where  your  soul  spends  its  solitudes  is  not 
our  affair;  so  that  you  keep  a  certain  surface  smooth 
ness,  so  that  you  dress  and  talk  and  spend  as  we  bid 
you,  you — for  such  time  as  we  please — shall  be  one  of 
us! 


CHAPTER  III 

NEVERTHELESS,  the  young  Studdifords,  upon  their 
return  to  San  Francisco,  entered  heartily  upon  the 
social  joys  of  the  hour.  Barbara  had  been  only  waiting 
their  arrival  to  demurely  announce  her  engagement,  and 
Julia's  delight  immediately  took  the  form  of  dinners 
and  theatre  parties  for  the  handsome  Miss  Toland  and 
her  fiance.  A  new  and  softened  sweetness  marked 
Barbara  in  these  days;  she  was  more  gentle  and  more 
charming  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  Captain 
Edward  Francis  Humphry  Gunther  Fox  was  an  officer 
in  the  English  army,  a  blond,  silent  man  of  forty,  with 
kind  eyes  and  a  delightfully  modulated  voice.  He  had 
a  comfortable  private  income,  a  "place"  in  Oxfordshire, 
an  uncle,  young  and  healthy  to  be  sure,  but  still  a  lord, 
and  an  older  sister  who  had  married  a  lord,  so  that  his 
credentials  were  unexceptionable,  and  Mrs.  Toland  was 
nearly  as  happy  as  her  daughter  was. 

"It's  curious,"  said  Barbara  to  Julia,  in  one  of  their 
first  hours  alone,  "but  there  is  a  distinction  and  an  ex 
citement  about  getting  engaged,  and  you  enjoy  it  just 
as  much  at  thirty  as  at  twenty — perhaps  more.  Peo 
ple — or  persons,  as  Francis  says — who  have  never  paid 
me  any  attention  before,  are  flocking  to  the  front  now 
with  presents  and  good  wishes,  and  some  who  never 
have  seen  Captain  Fox  congratulate  me — it  amounts 
to  congratulation — as  if  any  marriage  were  better  than 
none!" 

"Well,  there  is  a  something  about  marriage,"  Julia 
admitted;  "you  may  not  have  any  reason  for  feeling 
so,  but  you  do  feel  superior,  'way  down  in  your  secret 
heart!  And  yet,  Babbie,"  and  a  little  shadow  dark 
ened  her  bright  face,  "and  yet,  once  you  are  married? 

254 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  255 

you  see  a  sort  of — well,  a  sort  of  uncompromising 
brightness  about  girlhood,  too!  When  I  go  out  to  The 
Alexander  now,  and  remember  my  old  busy  days  there, 
and  walking  to  chapel  with  Aunt  Sanna,  in  the  fresh, 
early  mornings — I  don't  know — it  makes  me  almost  a 
little  sad!" 

"Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Barbara.  "When  I  think 
of  leaving  Dad,  and  home,  and  going  off  to  England,  and 
having  to  make  friends  of  awful  women  with  high  cheek 
bones,  and  mats  of  crimps  coming  down  to  their  eye 
brows,  it  scares  me  to  death!" 

And  both  girls  laughed  gayly.  They  were  having  tea 
in  Julia's  drawing-room  on  a  cold  bright  afternoon  in 
May. 

"I'll  miss  Dad  most,"  pursued  Barbara  seriously. 
"Mother's  so  much  with  Ted  now,  anyway."  She 
frowned  at  the  fire.  "Mother's  curious,  Ju,"  she 
added  presently.  "Every  one  says  she's  an  ideal 
mother,  and  so  on,  and  I  suppose  she  is,  but " 

"You're  more  like  your  father,  anyway,"  Julia  sug 
gested  in  the  pause. 

"It's  not  only  that,"  said  Barbara  slowly,  "but 
Mother  has  never  been  in  sympathy  with  any  one  of  us! 
Ned  deceived  her,  Sally  deceived  her,  Theodora  went 
deliberately  against  her  advice,  and  broke  her  heart, 
and  Con  and  Jane  don't  really  respect  her  opinion  at 
all!  I'm  the  oldest,  her  first  born " 

"And  she  loves  you  dearly,"  Julia  said  soothingly. 

"Used  to  Ju,  when  I  was  a  baby.  And  loves  me 
theoretically  now.  But  she  has  taken  my  not  marry 
ing  to  heart  much  more  than  the  curious  marriages  Ned 
and  the  girls  have  made!  Hints  about  old  maids,  and 
stories  about  her  own  popularity  as  a  girl,  regardless  of 
the  fact  that  no  one  wanted  me " 

"Oh,  Babbie!" 

"Well,  no  one  did!"  Barbara  laughed  a  little  dryly. 
"Why,  not  two  months  ago,"  she  went  on,  "that  little 
sprig  of  a  Paul  Smith  called  on  Con,  and  Mother  engi 
neered  me  out  of  the  room,  and  said  something  laugh- 


256  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

ingly  to  Richie  and  Ted  about  not  wanting  to  stand  in 
Con's  way,  'one  old  maid  was  enough  in  a  family  I" 

"Maddening!  Yes,  I  know,"  Julia  said,  laughing 
and  shaking  her  head.  "I've  heard  her  a  hundred 
times!" 

"Of  course  it's  all  love  and  kisses,  now,"  Barbara 
added,  "and  Francis  is  a  bold,  big  thief,  and  how  can 
she  give  up  her  dear  big  girl 


Barbara,  don't  be  bitter!" 

"Well,"  Barbara  flung  her  head  back  as  if  she  tossed 
the  subject  aside,  "I  suppose  I  am  bitter!  And  why 
you're  not,  Ju,  I  can't  understand,  for  you  never  had 
one  tenth  the  chance  I  did!" 

"No,"  Julia  assented  gravely,  "I  never  did.  If  my 
mother  had  kept  me  with  her  —  and  she  could  have 
done  it  —  if  she  hadn't  left  my  father  —  he  loved  me  so  — 
it  would  all  have  been  different.  Mothers  are  strange, 
Babby,  they  have  so  much  power  —  or  seem  to!  It 
seems  to  me  that  one  could  do  so  much  to  straighten 
things  out  for  the  poor  little  baby  brains;  this  is  worth 
while,  and  this  isn't  worth  while,  and  so  on!  Suppose" 
—  Julia  poured  herself  a  fresh  cup  of  tea,  and  leaned 
back  comfortably  in  her  chair  —  "suppose  you  had  young 
daughters,  Bab,"  said  she,  "what  would  you  do,  differ 
ently  from  your  mother,  I  mean?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  Barbara  said,  "only  it  seems 
funny  that  mothers  can't  help  their  daughters  more. 
Half  my  life  is  lived  now,  probably,  yet  Mother  goes 
right  on  theorizing,  she  —  she  doesn't  get  down  to  facts, 
somehow!  I  don't  know  —  —  " 

"It  all  comes  down  to  this,"  Julia  said  briskly,  as 
Barbara's  voice  trailed  into  silence,  "sitting  around  and 
waiting  for  some  one  to  ask  her  to  marry  him  is  not  a 
sufficiently  absorbing  life  work  for  the  average  young 
woman!" 

"She  isn't  expected  to  do  anything  else,"  Barbara 
added,  "except  —  attract.  And  it  isn't  as  if  she  could  be 
deciding  in  her  own  mind  about  it;  the  decision  is  in  his 
mind:  if  he  chooses  he  can  ask  her;  if  he  doesn't,  all 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  257 

right!  It's  a  shame — it's  a  shame,  I  say,  not  to  give  her 
a  more  dignified  existence  than  that!" 

"Yes,  but,  Bab,  your  mother  couldn't  have  put  you 
into  a  shop  to  sell  ribbons,  or  made  a  telephone  girl  of 
you!" 

"No;  my  brothers  didn't  sell  ribbons,  or  go  on  a 
telephone  board,  either.  But  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't 
have  studied  medicine,  like  Jim  and  Richie,  or  gone  into 
the  office  at  the  works  in  Yolo  City,  like  Ned." 

"Yes,  but,  Babby,  you've  no  leaning  toward  medi 
cine!" 

"Well,  then,  something  else,  just  as  Jim  would  have 
done  something  else,  in  that  case!  Office  hours  and 
responsibility,  and  meeting  of  men  in  some  other  than  a 
social  way.  You  and  I  have  somehow  dragged  a  solu 
tion  out  of  it,  Julie:  we  are  happy  in  spite  of  all  the 
blundering  and  stumbling,  but  I've  not  got  my  Mother 
to  thank  for  it,  and  neither  have  you!" 

"No,  neither  have  I!"  Julia  said,  with  a  long  sigh, 
and  for  a  few  moments  they  both  watched  the  coals  in 
silence.  The  room  was  quite  dark  now;  the  firelight 
winked  like  a  drowsy  eye;  here  and  there  the  gold  of  a 
picture  frame  or  the  smooth  curve  of  a  bit  of  copper  or 
brassware  twinkled.  The  windows  showed  opaque 
squares  of  dull  gray;  elsewhere  was  only  heavy  shadow, 
except  where  Barbara's  white  gown  made  a  spot  of  dull 
relief  in  the  gloom,  and  Julia's  slipper  buckles  caught 
the  light.  A  great  jar  of  lilacs,  somewhere  in  the  room, 
sent  out  a  subtle  and  delicious  scent. 

"Funny  world,  isn't  it,  Julie?" 

"Oh,  funny!"  Julia  put  out  her  hand,  and  met 
Barbara's,  and  their  fingers  pressed.  "Nothing  better 
in  it,  Barbara,  than  a  friend  like  you!"  she  said  affec 
tionately. 

"That's  what  I  was  thinking,"  said  Barbara. 

TheStuddifords  went  to  San  Mateo  after  the  wedding, 
and  Julia,  who  had  taken  herself  seriously  in  hand, 
entered  upon  the  social  life  of  the  summer  with  a  per- 


258  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

fectly  simulated  zest.  She  rode  and  drove,  played 
golf  and  tennis  and  polo,  gossiped  and  spent  hours  at 
bridge,  she  went  tirelessly  from  luncheon  to  tea,  from 
dinner  to  supper  party,  and  when  Jim  was  detained  in 
town,  she  went  without  him;  a  little  piece  of  self-reli 
ance  that  pleased  him  very  much.  If  society  was  not 
extremely  popular  with  Julia,  Julia  was  very  popular  with 
society;  her  demure  beauty  made  her  conspicuous  wher 
ever  she  went,  and  in  July,  prominent  in  some  theatricals 
at  the  clubhouse,  she  carried  all  honours  before  her. 

Julia  found  the  theatricals  perilously  delightful;  the 
grease  paint  and  the  ornate  costume  seemed  like  old 
friends;  she  was  intoxicated  and  enchanted  by  the  ap 
plause.  For  several  days  after  her  most  successful  per 
formance  she  was  thoughtful:  what  if  she  had  never 
joined  the  "Amazon"  caste,  never  gone  to  Sausalito, 
followed  naturally  in  the  footsteps  of  Connie  Girard 
and  Rose  Ransome?  She  might  have  been  a  great 
actress;  she  would  have  been  a  great  beauty. 

San'Mateo,  frankly,  bored  her,  although  she  could 
not  but  admire  the  beautiful  old  place,  the  lovely  homes 
set  in  enchanting  old  gardens,  the  lawns  and  drives 
stretching  under  an  endless  vista  of  superb  oaks.  There, 
alone  with  Jim,  in  a  little  cottage — ah,  there  would  have 
been  nothing  boring  about  that! 

But  the  Hardesty  cottage  never  seemed  like  home  to 
her,  they  had  rented  the  big,  shingled  brown  house  for 
only  three  months,  and  Jim  was  anxious  that  she  should 
not  tire  herself  with  altering  the  arrangement  of  furni 
ture  and  curtains  for  so  casual  a  tenancy.  The  Har- 
desty's  pictures  looked  down  from  the  wall,  their  chairs 
were  unfriendly,  their  books  under  lock  and  key.  Not 
a  lamp,  not  a  cup  or  saucer  was  familiar  to  Julia;  she  felt 
uncomfortable  in  giving  dinner  parties  with  "H"  on  the 
silver  knives  and  forks;  she  never  liked  the  look  of  the 
Hardesty  linen.  Life  seemed  unreal  in  the  "Cottage"; 
she  seemed  to  be  pushed  further  and  further  away  from 
reassuring  contact  with  the  homely  realities  of  love  and 
companionship;  chattering  people  were  always  about 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  259 

her,  pianoplayers  were  rippling  out  the  waltz  from 
"The  Merry  Widow,"  ice  was  clinking  in  cocktail  shak 
ers,  the  air  was  scented  with  cigarettes,  with  the  powder 
and  perfumery  of  women.  She  and  Jim  dined  alone  not 
oftener  than  once  a  week,  and  their  dinner  was  never 
finished  before  friendly  feet  crisped  on  the  gravel  curve 
of  the  drive,  and  friendly  invaders  appeared  to  invite 
them  to  do  something  amusing:  to  play  cards,  to  take 
long  spins  in  motor  cars,  or  to  spend  an  idle  hour  or  two 
at  the  club.  Sometimes  they  were  separated,  and  Julia 
would  come  in,  chilled  and  tired  after  a  long  drive,  to 
find  Jim  ahead  of  her,  already  sound  asleep.  Some 
times  she  left  him  smoking  with  some  casual  guest,  and 
fell  asleep  long  before  the  voices  downstairs  subsided. 
Even  if  they  went  upstairs  together,  both  were  tired; 
there  was  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  confidences, 
for  long  and  leisurely  talk. 

"Happy?"  Jim  said  to  his  wife  one  day,  when  Julia, 
looking  the  picture  of  happiness,  had  come  downstairs  to 
join  him  for  some  expedition. 

"Happy  enough,"  Julia  said,  with  her  grave  smile. 
She  took  the  deep  wicker  chair  next  his,  on  the  porch, 
and  sat  looking  down  the  curve  of  the  drive  to  the  road 
way  beyond  a  screen  of  trees. 

"Heavenly  afternoon,"  she  said.  "Just  what  are  we 
doing?" 

"Well,  as  near  as  I  got  it  from  Greg,"  Jim  informed 
her  a  little  uncertainly,  "we  go  first  to  his  place,  and 
then  split  up  into  about  three  cars  there;  Mrs.  Peter  and 
Mrs.  Billings  will  take  the  eats,  Peter  will  have  a  whole 
hamper  of  cocktails  and  things,  and  we  go  up  to  the 
ridge  for  a  sort  of  English  nursery  tea,  I  think." 

" Doing  it  all  ourselves?"  Julia  suggested,  brightening. 

"Well,  practically.  Although  Greg's  cook  is  going 
ahead  with  a  couple  of  maids  in  the  Peters'  car.  They're 
going  to  broil  trout  or  something;  anyway,  I  know  Greg 
has  been  having  fits  about  seeing  that  enough  plates  go, 
and  so  on.  I  know  Paula  Billings  is  taking  something 
frozen " 


260  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Oh,  Lord,  what  a  fuss  and  what  a  mess!"  Julia  said 
ungratefully. 

"Well,  you  know  how  the  Peters  always  do  things. 
And  then,  after  tea,  if  this  glorious  weather  holds,  we'll 
send  the  maids  and  the  hampers  home,  and  all  go  on 
down  to  Fernandas." 

"  Fernand's !     Forty  miles,  Jim  ? " 

"Oh,  why  not?     If  we're  having  a  good  time?" 

"Well,  I  hope  Peter  Vane  and  Alan  Gregory  keep  so 
ber,  that's  all!"  Julia  said.  "The  ride  will  be  lovely, 
and  it's  a  wonderful  day.  But  Minna  Vane  always 
bores  me  so!" 

"Why,  you  little  cat!"  Jim  laughed,  catching  her 
hand  as  it  hung  loose  over  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"They've  no  brains,"  complained  Julia  seriously; 
"they  were  born  doing  this  sort  of  thing,  they  think 
they  like  it !  Buying — buying — buying — eating — danc 
ing — rushing — rushing — rushing!  It's  no  life  at  all!  I'd 
rather  pack  a  heavy  basket,  and  lug  it  over  a  hot  hill, 
and  carry  water  half  a  mile,  when  I  picnic,  instead  of 
rolling  a  few  miles  in  a  motor  car,  and  then  sitting  on  a 
nice  camp-chair,  and  having  a  maid  to  pass  me  salads 
and  ices  and  toast  and  broiled  trout!" 

"Well,  if  you  would,  I  wouldn't!"  Jim  said  good- 
naturedly. 

"I  wasn't  born  to  this,"  Julia  added  thoughtfully; 
"my  life  has  always  been  full  of  real  things;  perhaps 
that's  the  trouble.  I  think  of  all  the  things  that  aren't 
going  right  in  the  world,  and  I  c  ant  just  turn  my  back  on 
them,  like  a  child — I  get  thinking  of  poor  little  clerks 
whose  wives  have  consumption " 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake!"  Jim  protested  frowningly, 
biting  the  end  from  his  cigar  with  a  clip  of  firm  white 
teeth. 

"It  isn't  as  if  I  had  never  been  poor,"  Julia  pursued 
uncertainly.  "I  know  that  there  are  times  when  a 
new  gown  or  a  paid  bill  actually  would  affect  a  girl's 
whole  life!  I  think  of  those  poor  little  girls  at  St. 
Anne's " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  261 

"I  would  like  to  suggest,"  Jim  said  incisively,  "that 
the  less  you  let  your  mind  run  on  those  little  girls  from 
St.  Anne's,  the  better  for  you!  If  you  have  no  con 
sideration  for  my  feelings  in  this  matter,  Julie,  for  your 
own  I  should  think  you  would  consider  such  topics  ab 
solutely — well,  absolutely  in  poor  taste!" 

Silence.  Jim  puffed  on  his  cigar.  Julia  sat  without 
stirring,  feeling  that  every  drop  of  blood  in  her  body  had 
rushed  to  her  head.  The  muscles  of  her  temples  and 
throat  ached,  her  eyes  saw  only  a  green-and-gold  dazzle, 
her  wet  little  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair. 

"It  is  all  very  well  to  criticise  these  people,"  pursued 
Jim  sententiously,  after  a  long  silence,  "although  they 
have  all  been  kindness  and  graciousness  itself  to  you! 
They  may  be  shallow,  they  may  be  silly;  I  don't  hold 
any  brief  for  Minna  Vane  and  Paula  Billings.  But  I 
know  that  Minna  is  on  the  Hospital  Board,  and  Paula  a 
mighty  kind-hearted,  good  little  woman,  and  they  don't 
sit  around  pulling  long  faces,  and  wishing  they  were 
living  south  of  Market  Street!" 

Julia  sat  perfectly  still.  She  could  not  have  battled 
with  the  lump  in  her  throat  if  life  had  depended  upon 
her  speaking.  She  felt  her  chest  strain  with  a  terrible 
rush  of  sobbing,  but  she  held  herself  stiffly,  and  only 
prayed  that  her  tears  might  be  kept  back  until  she  was 
alone. 

"Hello!  Here's  Greg,"  Jim  said  cheerfully,  after  an 
other  silence.  And  here,  truly,  was  Alan  Gregory,  a 
red-faced,  smooth-shaven  young  man,  already  slightly 
hilarious  and  odorous  of  drink,  and  very  gallant  to 
beautiful  Mrs.  Studdiford.  A  great  silky  veil  must  be 
tied  over  Julia's  hat;  sure  she  was  warm  enough  ?  Might 
be  late,  might  get  cold,  you  know. 

"Shall  I  get  you  your  white  coat,  dear?"  Jim  asked 
solicitously. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Jim!" 

Then  they  were  off,  and  Julia  told  herself  that  men 
and  their  wives  often  quarrelled  this  way;  it  was  a 
common  enough  thing  to  have  some  woman  announce, 


262  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

with  a  casual  laugh,  that  she  and  her  husband  had  had 
a  "terrible  scene,"  and  "weren't  speaking."  Only, 
with  Jim  it  seemed  so  different!  It  seemed  so  direfully, 
so  hopelessly  wrong! 

She  felt  a  hypocrite  when  they  joined  the  others,  and 
when  she  presently  found  herself  laughing  and  talking 
with  them  all,  even  with  Jim.  And  through  the  jolly 
afternoon  and  noisy  evening  she  found  herself  watching 
her  husband,  when  she  could  do  so  unobserved,  with 
gravely  analytical  eyes.  No  barbed  sentence  of  his 
could  long  affect  her,  for  Julia  had  pondered  and  prayed 
too  long  over  this  matter  to  find  any  fresh  distress  in  a 
reminder  of  it.  Her  natural  simple  honesty  very  soon 
adjusted  the  outraged  sensibilities.  But  Jim  could  hurt 
himself  with  his  wife,  and  this  afternoon  he  had  done  so. 
Unconsciously  Julia  said  to  herself,  over  and  over,  "Oh, 
he  should  not  have  said  that !  That  was  not  kind ! " 

Mrs.  Vane  had  a  great  favour  to  ask  the  men  of  the 
party  to-night.  She  proffered  it  somewhat  doubtfully, 
like  a  spoiled  child  who  is  almost  sure  of  being  denied, 
yet  risks  its  little  charms  in  one  more  entreaty.  She  and 
Paula,  yes,  and  Mrs.  Jerome,  and  little  Julia — wasn't 
that  so,  Julia? — wanted  to  see  a  roadhouse.  No — 
no — no — not  the  sort  of  place  where  nice  women  went, 
but  a  regular  roadhouse — oh,  please,  please,  please! 
They  had  their  veils  to  tie  over  their  faces,  and  they 
would  keep  very  unobtrusively  in  the  background,  and 
there  was  a  man  apiece  and  two  men  over  to  protect 
them. 

"All  the  girls  in  town  are  doing  it!"  argued  Mrs. 
Vane,  "and  they  say  it's  perfectly  killing!  Dancing, 
you  know,  and  singing.  You  have  to  keep  your  veil 
down,  of  course!  Betty  said  they'd  been  three  times!" 

"Nothing  doing,"  Jim  said  good-naturedly,  shaking 
his  head. 

"Oh,  now,  don't  say  that,  Doctor!"  Mrs.  Vane  com 
manded  animatedly;  "it's  too  mean!  Well,  if  you 
couldn't  take  us  to  the  very  worst,  where  could  you  take 
us — Hunter's?" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  263 

"Hunter's!"  the  three  men  echoed,  laughing  and  ex 
changing  glances. 

"Well,  where  then?"  the  lady  pursued. 

"Look    here,    Mm,"    said    her    husband    uneasily, 
'there's  nothing  to  it.     And  you  girls  might  get  insulted 
and  mixed  into  something " 

"Oh,  divine!"  Mrs.  Billings  said;  "now  I  will  go!" 

"White's,  huh,  Jim?"  Greg  suggested  tentatively. 

"White's?"  Jim  considered  it,  shook  his  head. 
"Nothing  doing  there,  anyway!"  was  his  verdict. 

"Larry's,  where  the  pretty  window  boxes  are," 
suggested  Mrs.  Vane,  hopeful  eyes  upon  the  judges. 
"Come  on!  Ohy  come  on!  You  see  such  flossy  ladies 
getting  out  of  motor  cars  in  front  of  Larry's!" 

"There's  this  about  Larry's,"  Mr.  Billings  contrib 
uted;  "  we  could  get  one  of  those  side  places,  and  then, 
if  things  got  too  hot,  just  step  out  on  to  the  porch,  d'ye 
see,  and  get  the  girls  away  with  no  fuss  at  all." 

"That's  so,"  Jim  conceded;  "but  I'll  be  darned  if  I 
know  why  they  want  to  do  it.  However " 

"However,  you're  all  angels!"  sang  Mrs.  Vane,  and 
catching  Julia  about  the  waist,  she  began  to  waltz  upon 
the  pleasant  meadow  grass  where  they  had  just  had 
their  high  tea.  "Come  on,  everybody!  We  won't  be 
at  Fernand's  until  nearly  night,  then  dinner,  and  then 
Larry's!" 

"Mind  now,"  growled  one  of  the  somewhat  unwilling 
escort,  "you  girls  keep  your  veils  down.  Nix  on  the 
front-page  story  to-morrow!" 

"Oh,  we'll  behave!"  Mrs.  Billings  assured  him.  And 
slipping  an  affectionate  arm  about  Julia's  waist,  as  they 
walked  to  the  motor  cars,  she  murmured:  "My  dear, 
there  isn't  one  decent  woman  in  the  place!  Isn't  this 
fun!" 

Julia  did  not  answer.  She  got  into  the  car  and 
settled  herself  for  the  run;  so  much  of  the  day  at  least 
would  be  pleasant.  It  was  the  close  of  a  lovely  summer 
afternoon,  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees  lay  ahead  of 
them  on  the  road,  the  sky  was  palest  blue  and  palest 


264  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

pink,  a  flock  of  white  baby  clouds  lay  low  against  the 
eastern  horizon.  The  warm  air  bore  the  clean  good 
scent  of  wilting  grass  and  hot  pine  sap.  The  car  rolled 
along  smoothly,  its  motion  stirring  the  still  air  into  a 
breeze.  Mr.  Billings,  sitting  next  to  Julia,  began  an 
interested  disquisition  upon  the  difficulties  of  breeding 
genuine,  bat-eared,  French  bulldogs.  Julia  scarcely 
heard  him,  but  she  nodded  now  and  then,  and  now  and 
then  her  blue  eyes  met  his;  once  she  gratified  him  with  a 
dreamy  smile.  This  quite  satisfied  Morgan  Billings,  to 
whom  it  never  occurred  that  Julia's  thoughts  might  be 
on  the  beauties  of  the  rolling  landscape,  and  her  smile 
for  the  first  star  that  came  prickling  through  the  soft 
twilight. 

And  after  a  while  some  aching  need  of  her  soul  grew 
less  urgent,  and  some  of  the  wistfulness  left  her  face. 
She  forgot  the  ideals  that  had  come  with  her  into  her 
married  life,  and  crushed  down  the  conviction  that  Jim, 
like  all  men,  liked  his  wife  to  slip  into  the  kitchen  and 
concoct  some  little  sweet  for  his  supper,  even  with  an 
artist  like  Foo  Ting  at  his  command.  She  realized  that 
when  she  declined  old  Mrs.  Chickering's  luncheon  in 
vitation  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  rushing  home  to  have 
lunch  with  Jim,  her  only  reward  might  be  a  disapproving : 
"My  Lord!  Julia,  I  hope  you  didn't  offend  Mrs. 
Chickering!  She's  been  so  decent  to  us!" 

It  was  as  if  Julia,  offering  high  interest  on  her  marriage 
bond,  had  at  last  learned  that  one  tenth  of  what  she 
would  pay  would  satisfy  Jim.  Feeling  as  she  did  that  no 
demonstration  on  his  part,  no  inclination  to  monopolize 
her,  would  do  more  than  satisfy  her  longing  to  be  all  in 
all  to  him,  it  was  not  an  easy  lesson.  For  a  while  she 
could  not  believe  that  he  knew  his  own  happiness  in  the 
matter,  and  a  dispassionate  onlooker  might  have  found 
infinitely  pathetic  the  experimental  temerity  with  which 
she  told  him  that  this  invitation  had  been  accepted,  this 
social  obligation  incurred,  this  empty  Sunday  filled  to 
overflowing  with  engagements. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  265 

And  now  Jim  approved,  and  Julia  had  to  hide  in  the 
depth  of  her  hurt  soul  the  fact  that  she  had  never 
dreamed  he  could  approve.  However  tired,  he  liked  to 
come  home  to  the  necessity  of  immediately  assuming 
evening  dress,  and  going  out  into  the  night  again.  He 
and  Julia  held  a  cheerful  conversation  between  their 
dressing-rooms  as  they  dressed;  later  they  chattered 
eagerly  enough  in  the  limousine,  Jim  enthusiastic  over 
his  wife's  gown,  and  risking  a  kiss  on  her  bare  shoulder 
when  the  car  turned  down  a  dark  street.  Jim,  across  a 
brilliant  table,  in  a  strange  house,  did  not  seem  to  Julia 
to  belong  to  her  at  all;  but  it  was  almost  as  if  he  found 
his  wife  more  fascinating  when  the  eyes  of  outsiders  were 
upon  her,  and  admired  Julia  in  a  ballroom  more  than 
he  did  when  they  had  the  library  and  the  lamplight  to 
themselves,  at  home. 

They  would  come  home  together  late  and  silent. 
Ellie  would  come  in  to  help  her  lovely  mistress  out  of 
the  spangled  gown,  to  lift  the  glittering  band  from  her 
bright  hair.  And  because  of  Ellie,  and  because  Jim 
usually  was  dressed  and  gone  before  she  was  up  in  the 
morning,  Julia  had  a  room  to  herself  now.  She  would 
have  much  preferred  to  breakfast  with  her  lord,  but 
Jim  himself  forbade  it. 

"No,  no,  no,  Ju!  It's  not  necessary,  and  you're 
much  better  off  in  bed.  That's  the  time  for  you  to  get 
a  little  extra  rest.  No  human  being  can  stand  the  whole 
season  without  making  some  rest  up  somehow!  You'll 
see  the  girls  begin  to  drop  with  nervous  prostration  in 
January;  Barbara  used  to  lose  twenty  pounds  every 
winter.  And  I  won't  have  you  getting  pale.  Just  take 
things  easy  in  the  morning,  and  sleep  as  late  as  you 
can!" 

Julia  accepted  the  verdict  mildly.  With  the  open 
ing  of  her  second  winter  in  San  Francisco's  most  exclu 
sive  set,  she  had  tried  to  analyze  the  whole  situation, 
honestly  putting  her  prejudices  on  one  side,  and  at 
tempting  to  get  her  husband's  point  of  view.  It  was 
the  harder  because  she  had  hoped  to  be  to  Jim  just 


266  THE  STORY  OP  JULIA  PAGE 

what  Kennedy  Marbury  was  to  Anthony,  united  by  a 
thousand  needs,  little  and  big,  by  the  memory  of  a 
thousand  little  comedies  and  tragedies.  Kennedy, 
who  worried  about  bills  and  who  dreaded  the  coming  of 
the  new  baby,  could  stop  making  a  pie  to  administer 
punishment  and  a  lecture  to  her  oldest  son,  stop  again 
to  answer  the  telephone,  stop  again  to  kiss  her  daugh 
ter's  little  bumped  nose,  and  yet  find  in  her  tired  soul 
and  body  enough  love  and  energy  to  put  a  pastry  "A. 
M."  on  the  top  of  her  pie,  to  amuse  the  head  of  the 
house  when  he  should  cut  into  it  that  night. 

But  this  mixture  of  the  ridiculous  and  the  sublime 
was  not  for  Julia.  And  just  as  Kennedy  had  adjusted 
herself  to  the  life  of  a  poor  man's  wife,  so  Julia  must 
adjust  herself  to  her  own  so  different  destiny. 

And  adjust  herself  she  did.  Nobody  dreamed  of  the 
thoughts  that  went  on  behind  the  beautiful  blue  eyes, 
nobody  found  little  Mrs.  Studdiford  anything  but 
charming.  With  that  steadfast,  serious  resolution  that 
had  marked  her  all  her  life,  Julia  set  herself  to  the  study 
of  gowns,  of  dinners,  of  small  talk.  She  kept  a  slim 
little  brown  Social  Register  on  her  dressing-table,  and 
pored  over  it  at  odd  moments;  she  listened  attentively 
to  the  chatter  that  went  on  all  about  her.  She  drew 
infinitely  less  satisfaction  from  the  physical  evidences 
of  her  success — her  beauty,  her  wealth,  her  handsome 
husband,  and  her  popularity — than  any  one  of  the  wo 
men  who  envied  her  might  have  done,  yet  she  did 
draw  some  satisfaction,  loved  her  pretty  gowns,  the 
freedom  of  bared  white  neck  and  shoulders,  the  at 
mosphere  of  perfumed  drawing-rooms  and  glittering 
dinner  tables.  She  wrote  long  letters  to  Barbara,  was 
a  devoted  godtnother  to  Theodora  Carleton's  tiny  son, 
loved  to  have  Miss  Toland  with  her  for  an  occasional 
visit,  and  perhaps  once  a  month  went  over  to  Sausalito, 
to  spoil  the  old  doctor  with  her  affectionate  attentions, 
hold  long  conferences  with  their  mother  on  the  subject 
of  the  girls'  love  affairs,  and  fall  into  deep  talks  with 
Richie — perhaps  the  happiest  talks  in  her  life,  for 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  267 

Richie,  whose  mind  and  body  had  undergone  for  long 
years  the  exquisite  discipline  of  pain,  was  delightfully 
unexpected  in  his  views,  and  his  whole  lean,  ungainly 
frame  vibrated  with  the  eager  joy  of  expressing  them. 

Perhaps  once  a  month,  too,  Julia  went  to  see  her  own 
mother,  calls  which  always  left  her  definitely  depressed. 
Emeline  was  becoming  more  and  more  crippled  with 
rheumatism,  the  old  grandmother  was  now  the  more 
brisk  of  the  two.  May's  two  younger  girls,  Muriel 
and  Geraldine,  were  living  there  now,  as  Marguerite 
and  Evelyn  had  done;  awkward,  dark,  heavy-faced 
girls  who  attended  the  High  School.  Julia's  astonish 
ing  rise  in  life  had  necessarily  affected  her  relatives,  but 
much  less,  she  realized  in  utter  sickness  of  spirit,  than 
might  have  been  imagined.  She  and  Jim  were  paying 
for  the  schooling  of  two  of  May's  boys,  and  a  substan 
tial  check,  sent  to  her  mother  monthly,  supposedly 
covered  the  main  expenses  of  the  entire  household. 
Besides  this,  Chess  was  working,  and  paying  his  mother 
something  every  week  for  board. 

It  had  been  Julia's  first  confident  plan  to  move  the 
family  from  the  Mission  entirely.  There  were  lovely 
roomy  flats  in  the  Western  Addition,  or  there  were 
sunny  houses  out  toward  the  end  of  Sutter  Street,  where 
her  mother  and  grandmother  would  be  infinitely  more 
comfortable  and  more  accessible.  She  was  stunned 
when  her  grandmother  flatly  refused.  Even  her  mother's 
approval  of  the  plan  was  singularly  wavering  and  half 
hearted.  Mrs.  Cox  argued  shrilly  that  they  were  poor 
folks,  and  poor  folks  were  better  off  not  trapesing  all 
over  the  city,  and  Emeline  added  that  Ma  would  feel 
lost  without  her  backyard  and  her  neighbours,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  privilege  of  bundling  up  in  a  flat  black 
bonnet  and  brown  shawl,  hot  weather  or  cold,  and 
trotting  off  to  St.  Charles's  Church  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  and  night. 

"/don't  care,  Julie,"  Mrs.  Page  made  her  daughter 
exquisitely  uncomfortable  by  saying  very  formally, 
"but  there's  no  girl  in  God's  world  that  wouldn't  think 


268  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

of  asking  her  mother  to  stay  with  her  for  a  while — till 
things  got  settled,  anyway.  You  haven't  done  it!" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Mama-  '  Julia  began,  but 
Emeline  interrupted  her. 

"You  haven't  done  it,  Julie,  and  let  me  tell  you  right 
now,  it  looks  queer.  I'm  not  the  one  that  says  it; 
every  one  says  it.  I  don't  want  to  force  myself  where 
I'm  not- 

"But,  Mama  dear,  we're  only  at  the  hotel  now!" 
Julia  protested,  feeling  a  hypocrite. 

"I  see,"  said  Emeline,  "and  I'm  not  good  enough,  of 
course.  I  couldn't  meet  your  friends,  of  course!"  She 
laughed  heartily.  "That's  good!"  she  said  appecia- 
tively. 

Julia  used  to  flush  angrily  under  these  withering 
comments,  at  first;  later,  her  poor  little  mother's  atti 
tude  filled  her  only  with  a  great  pity.  For  Emeline  was 
suffering  a  great  deal  now,  and  Julia  longed  to  be  able 
to  take  her  with  her  to  the  Pacific  Avenue  house,  if 
only  to  prove  that  its  empty  splendour  held  no  par 
ticular  advantages  over  the  life  on  Shotwell  Street,  for 
Emeline.  She  was  definitely  better  off  in  her  mother's 
warm  kitchen,  gossiping  and  idling  her  days  away, 
than  she  would  have  been  limping  aimlessly  about  in 
Julia's  house,  and  catching  glimpses  of  Julia  only  be 
tween  the  many  claims  of  the  daughter's  day. 

More  than  this,  Jim  would  not  hear  of  such  a  visit; 
it  never  even  came  to  a  discussion  between  husband 
and  wife;  he  would  have  been  frankly  as  much  surprised 
as  horrified  at  the  idea.  So  Julia  did  what  was  left  to 
her,  for  her  mother:  listened  patiently  to  long  com 
plaints,  paid  bills,  and  supplemented  Jim's  generous 
cheque  with  many  a  gold  piece  pressed  into  her  mother's 
hand  or  slipped  into  her  grandmother's  dreadful  old 
shopping-bag.  She  carried  off  her  young  cousins  to 
equip  them  with  winter  suits  and  sensible  shoes,  aware 
all  the  while  that  their  high-heeled  slippers  and  flimsy, 
cheap  silk  dresses,  the  bangles  that  they  slipped  over 
dirty  little  hands,  and  the  fancy  combs  they  pushed 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  269 

into  their  untidy  hair,  were  infinitely  more  prized  by 
them. 

The  Shotwell  Street  house  was  still  close  and  stuffy, 
the  bedrooms  as  dark  and  horrible  as  Julia  remembered 
them,  and  no  financial  aid  did  more  than  temporarily 
soften  the  family's  settled  opinion  that  poor  folks  were 
poor  folks,  and  predestined  to  money  trouble.  Julia 
knew  that  when  the  clothes  she  bought  her  cousins 
grew  dirty  they  would  not  be  cleaned;  she  knew  that  her 
grandmother  had  never  taken  a  tub  bath  in  her  life  and 
rather  scorned  the  takers  of  tub  baths;  she  knew  that 
such  a  thing  as  the  weekly  washing  of  clothes,  the  trans 
formation  of  dirty  linen  into  piles  of  fragrant  whiteness, 
never  took  place  in  the  Shotwell  Street  house.  Mrs. 
Cox  indeed  liked  to  keep  a  tub  full  of  gray  suds  standing 
in  the  kitchen,  and  occasionally  souse  in  it  one  of  her 
calico  wrappers,  or  a  shirt  waist  belonging  to  the  girls. 
These  would  be  dried  on  a  rope  stretched  across  the 
kitchen,  and  sooner  or  later  pressed  with  one  of  the  sad 
irons  that  Julia  remembered  as  far  back  as  she  remem 
bered  anything;  rough-looking  old  irons,  one  with  a 
broken  handle,  all  with  the  figure  seven  stamped  upon 
them  with  a  mould.  Mrs.  Cox  had  several  ironholders 
drifting  about  the  kitchen,  folds  of  dark  cloth  that  had 
been  so  often  wet  and  singed  that  the  covering  had 
split,  and  the  folded  newspaper  inside  showed  its  burned 
edges,  but  she  never  could  find  one  when  she  wanted 
it,  and  usually  improvised  a  new  one  from  a  grocery 
bag  or  the  folds  of  her  apron,  and  so  burned  her  veined 
old  knotted  hands. 

Julia  came  soon  to  see  that  her  actual  presence  did 
them  small  good,  and  did  herself  real  harm,  and  so, 
somewhat  thankfully,  began  to  confine  her  attentions 
more  and  more  to  mere  financial  assistance.  She 
presently  arranged  for  the  best  of  medical  care  for  her 
mother,  even  for  a  hospital  stay,  but  her  attitude  grew 
more  and  more  that  of  the  noncommittal  outsider,  who 
helps  without  argument  and  disapproves  without 
comment.  Evelyn  had  made  a  great  success  of  her 


270  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

dressmaking,  but  such  aid  as  she  could  give  must  be 
given  her  sister,  for  Marguerite's  early  and  ill-considered 
marriage  had  come  to  the  usual  point  when,  with  an 
unreliable  husband,  constantly  arriving  and  badly  man 
aged  babies,  and  bitter  poverty  and  want,  she  found 
herself  much  in  the  position  of  her  mother,  twenty  years 
before.  May  was  still  living  in  Oakland,  widowed. 
Her  two  sons  were  at  home  and  working,  and  with  a 
small  income  from  rented  rooms  as  well,  the  three  and 
her  youngest  daughter,  Regina,  somehow  managed  to 
maintain  the  dreary  cottage  in  which  most  of  the  chil 
dren  were  born. 

"They  all  give  me  a  great  big  pain!"  Evelyn  said 
one  day  frankly,  when  Julia  was  at  Madame  Carroll's 
for  a  fitting,  and  the  cousins — one  standing  in  her 
French  hat  and  exquisite  underlinen,  and  the  other 
kneeling,  her  gown  severely  black,  big  scissors  in  hand, 
and  a  pincushion  dangling  at  her  breast — were  dis 
cussing  the  family.  "Gran'ma  isn't  so  bad,  because 
she's  old,  but  Aunt  Emeline  and  Mama  have  a  right 
to  get  next  to  themselves!  Mama  had  a  fit  because  I 
wouldn't  take  a  flat  over  here,  and  have  her  and 
Regina  with  me;  well,  I  could  do  it  perfectly  well;  it 
isn't  the  money!"  Evelyn  stood  up,  took  seven  pins 
separately  and  rapidly  from  her  mouth,  and  inserted 
them  in  the  flimsy  lining  that  dangled  about  Julia's 
arm.  "You  want  this  tight,  but  not  too  tight,  don't 
you,  Julie?"  said  she.  "That  can  come  in  a  little,  still. 
No,"  she  resumed  aggrievedly,  "but  I  board  at  a  nice 
place  on  Fulton  street;  the  Lancasters,  the  people  that 
keep  it,  are  just  lovely.  Mrs.  Lancaster  is  so  motherly 
and  the  girls  are  so  jolly;  my  wash  costs  me  a  dollar  a 
week;  I  belong  to  the  library;  I've  got  a  lovely  room;  I 
go  to  the  theatre  when  I  want  to;  I  buy  the  clothes  I 
like,  and  why  should  I  worry?  I  know  the  way  Mama 
keeps  house,  and  I've  had  enough  of  it!" 

"It's  awfully  hard,"  Julia  mused,  "Marguerite's 
just  doing  the  same  thing  over  again.  It's  just  dis 
couraging!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  271 

"Well,  you  got  out  of  it,  and  I  got  out  of  it,"  Evelyn 
said  briskly,  "and  they  call  it  our  luck!  Luck?  There 
ain't  any  such  thing,"  she  went  on  indignantly.  "I'm 
going  to  New  York  for  Madame  next  year — me,  to  New 
York,  if  you  please,  and  stay  at  a  good  hotel,  and  put 
more  than  twenty  thousand  dollars  into  materials  and 
imported  wraps  and  scarfs  and  so  on — is  there  any  luck 
to  that?  There's  ten  years'  slavery,  that's  what  there 
is!  How  much  do  you  suppose  you'd  have  married 
Jim  Studdiford  if  you  hadn't  kept  yourself  a  little  above 
the  crowd,  and  worked  away  at  the  settlement  house 
for  years  and  years?"  she  demanded.  "I  can  put  a 
little  hook  in  here,  Ju,  where  the  lace  comes,  to  keep 
that  in  place  for  you!"  she  added,  more  quietly. 

"Well,  it's  true!1"  Julia  said,  sighing.  She  looked 
with  real  admiration  at  the  capable,  black-clad  figure, 
the  clear-skinned,  black-eyed  face  of  Madame  Carroll's 
chief  assistant.  "Why  don't  you  ever  come  and  have 
lunch  with  me,  Evelyn?"  she  demanded  affectionately. 

"Oh,  Lord,  dearie!"  Evelyn  said,  in  her  most  pro 
fessional  way,  as  she  pencilled  a  list  of  young  Mrs.  Stud- 
diford's  proportions  on  a  printed  card,  "this  season 
Madame  has  our  lunches,  and  even  our  dinners,  sent 
in — simply  one  rush!  But  some  time  I'd  love  to." 

"You  like  your  work,  don't  you,  Evelyn?"  Julia 
said  curiously. 

"You  go  tell  Madame  I'm  ready  for  Mrs.  Addison," 
Evelyn  said  capably  to  a  small  black-clad  girl  who  an 
swered  her  bell,  "and  then  carry  this  to  Minnie  and 
tell  her  it's  rush — don't  drop  the  pins  out.  I  love  my 
work,"  she  added,  when  she  and  Julia  were  alone  again; 
"I'm  crazy  about  it!  The  girls  here  are  awfully  nice, 
and  some  of  the  customers  treat  me  simply  swell — most 
of  them  do.  This  way,  Julia.  Christmas  time  we  get 
more  presents  than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at!"  said 
Evelyn,  opening  a  door.  "Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Ad 
dison,  I'm  all  ready  for  you." 

"That's  a  good  girl!"  the  woman  who  was  waiting  in 
Carroll's  handsome  parlour  said  appreciatively;  she 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

recognized  Julia.  "Well,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Studdi- 
ford  ?"  she  smiled,  "so  sorry  not  to  see  you  on  Saturday, 
you  bad  little  thing!" 

Julia  gave  her  excuse.  "You  know  Evelyn  here  is  my 
cousin?"  she  said,  in  her  quiet  but  uncompromising  way, 
as  she  hooked  her  sables  together. 

"About  eleven  times  removed!"  Evelyn  said  cheer 
fully.  "Right  in  here,  please,  Mrs.  Addison!  At  the 
same  time  to-morrow,  Mrs.  Studdiford.  Thank  you, 
good-night." 

"Good-night!"  Julia  said,  smiling.  For  some  reason 
she  could  not  fathom,  Evelyn  never  seemed  willing  to 
claim  the  full  relationship;  always  assumed  it  to  be  but  a 
hazy  and  distant  connection.  It  was  as  if  in  her  success 
the  modiste  wished  to  recognize  no  element  but  her  own 
worth;  no  wealthy  or  influential  relative  could  claim  to 
have  helped  her!  Julia  always  left  her  with  a  certain 
warmth  at  her  heart.  It  was  good  to  come  in  contact 
now  and  then  with  such  self-confidence,  such  capability, 
such  prosperity.  "I  could  almost  envy  Evelyn!" 
thought  Julia,  spinning  home  in  the  twilight. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  Studdifords,  with  some  four  hundred  other  San 
Francisco  society  folk,  regarded  the  Browning  dances 
as  quite  the  most  important  of  the  winter's  social  affairs, 
and  Julia,  who  thoroughly  liked  the  host  and  the  bril 
liant  assembly,  really  enjoyed  them  more  than  the 
smaller  and  more  select  affairs.  The  Brownings  were 
a  beloved  and  revered  institution;  very  few  new  faces 
appeared  there  from  year  to  year,  except  the  very  choice 
of  the  annual  crop  of  debutantes.  Little  Mrs.  Studdi- 
ford  had  made  a  sensation  when  she  first  came,  at  her 
handsome  husband's  side,  a  year  ago,  her  dazzling  pretti- 
ness  set  off  by  the  simplest  of  milk-white  Paris  gowns, 
her  wonderful  crown  of  hair  wound  about  with  pearls. 
Now  she  was  a  real  favourite,  and  at  the  January  ball, 
in  her  second  winter  in  society,  a  score  of  admirers  as 
sured  her  that  her  gown  was  the  prettiest  in  the  room. 

"That  pleases  you,  doesn't  it,  Jim?"  she  smiled,  as 
he  put  her  into  a  red  velvet  armchair,  at  the  end  of  the 
long  ballroom,  and  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  her. 

"Well,  it's  true,"  Jim  assured  her,  "and,  what's  more, 
you're  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  room,  too!" 

" Oh,  Jeemy !  What  a  story !  But  go  get  your  dances, 
dear,  if  we're  not  going  to  stay  for  supper.  Here's  Mrs. 
Thayer  to  amuse  me,"  said  Julia,  as  a  magnificent  old 
woman  came  toward  her  with  a  smile. 

"Not  dancing,  dear?"  said  the  dowager,  as  she  sank 
heavily  into  the  seat  Jim  left.  "Whyn't  you  dancing 
with  the  other  girls?  I" — she  panted  and  fanned,  idly 
scanning  the  room — "I  tell  Brownie  I  don't  know  how 
he  gets  the  men ! "  she  added,  " lots  of  'em;  supper  brings 
'em,  probably!  Whyn't  you  dancing,  dear?" 

"She's  implying  that  her  ankle  was  sprained,"  Jim 

273 


274  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

grinned,    departing.      Julia     dimpled.      The    dowager 
brought  an  approving  eye  to  bear  upon  her. 

"Well — well,  you  don't  say  so  ?  Now  that's  very  nice 
indeed,"  she  said  comfortably;  "well,  I  declare !  I  hadn't 
heard  a  word  of  it — and  you're  glad,  of  course  ? " 

"Oh,  very  glad!"  Julia  assured  her,  colouring. 

"That's  nice,  too!"  Mrs.  Thayer  rumbled  on,  her 
eyes  beginning  again  to  rove  the  room.  "Fuss,  of 
course,  and  lots  of  trouble,  but  you  forget  all  that! 
Yes,  I  love  children  myself,  used  to  be  the  most  devoted 
mother  alive,  puttin'  'em  to  bed,  and  all  that,  yes, 
indeed!" 

"You  had  two?"  Julia  hazarded.  The  dowager  gave 
her  a  surprised  glance. 

"I,  me  dear?  I  had  five — Rose  there,  that's  Mrs. 
St.  John,  and  Kate,  you  know  her?  Mrs.  Willis,  and 
my  boy  that's  in  Canada  now,  and  the  boy  I  lost,  and 
Lillian — Lily  we  called  her,  she  was  only  three.  Diph 
theria." 

"Oh!"  Julia  said,  shocked. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  thought  it  would  break  Colonel 
Thayer's  heart,"  pursued  Mrs.  Thayer,  fanning  regally, 
and  watching  the  room.  "She  was  the  first — Lily 
would  be  nearly  forty  now!  Look,  Julia,  who  is  that 
with  Isabel  Wallace?  Who?  Oh,  yes,  Mary  Chaun- 
cey.  See  if  you  can  see  her  husband  anywhere.  I'd  give 
a  good  deal  to  know  if  she  came  with  him!" 

"Mrs.  Thayer,"  said  Julia  presently,  "how  long  have 
you  been  coming  to  the  Brownings?" 

"I?  Oh,  since  they  were  started,  child.  There 
was  a  little  group  of  us  that  used  to  dance  round  at  each 
other's  houses,  then  some  of  the  men  got  together  and 
formed  a  little  club — Brownie  was  one  of  them.  The 
Saunders  used  to  come.  Ella  was  about  eighteen,  and 
Sally  and  Anna  Toland,  and  the  Harts,  and  the  Kirk- 
woods.  Who's  that  with  young  Brice,  Julia,  me 
dear?  Peter  Coleman,  is  it?" 

"Talking  to  Mr.  Carter,  yes,  that's  Mr.  Coleman. 
He's  a  beautiful  dancer,"  said  Julia. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  275 

"  Peter  is  ?  Yes,  well,  then,  why  don't  you But 

you're  not  dancing,  of  course,"  Mrs.  Thayer  said. 
"There's  Gordon  Jones  and  his  wife !  Why  Brownie  ever 
let  them  in  I  don't Ah,  Ella,  how  are  you,  dear?" 

"Fine,  thank  you!"  said  the  newcomer,  a  magnifi 
cent  woman  of  perhaps  forty,  in  a  very  beautiful  gown. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Studdiford  ? "  she  added  cordially, 
as  she  sat  down.  "Dancing,  surely?" 

"Now  she's  got  the  best  reason  in  the  world  for  not 
dancing,"  said  old  Mrs.  Thayer,  with  a  protective  mo 
tion  of  her  fan. 

"Oh — so?"  Miss  Saunders  said,  after  a  quick  look  of 
interrogation.  "Well,  that's — dutiful,  isn't  it?"  She 
raised  her  eyebrows,  made  a  little  grimace,  and  laughed. 

"Now,  Ella,  don't  ye  say  anything  wicked!"  Mrs. 
Thayer  warned  her,  and  the  fan  was  used  to  tap  Miss 
Saunders  sharply  on  her  smooth,  big  arm. 

"Wicked!"  Miss  Saunders  said  negligently,  watching 
the  dancers,  "I  think  it's  fine.  I  always  said  I'd  have 
ten.  Is  Jim  pleased?" 

"He's  perfectly  delighted — yes,"  Julia  assented,  sud 
denly  feeling  that  this  careless  talk,  in  this  bright,  hot 
room,  was  not  fair  to  the  little  one  she  already  loved  so 
dearly. 

"Is  that  Mrs.  Brock  or  Vera?"  Mrs.  Thayer  asked. 
"I  declare  they  look  alike!" 

"That's  Alice,"  Ella  answered,  after  a  glance,  "don't 
you  know  that  blue  silk?  They've  got  the  Hazzards 
with  them." 

"Gets  worse  every  year,  absolutely,"  the  old  lady  de 
clared,  "doesn't  it,  Ella?  Emily  here?" 

"No,  she's  wretched,  poor  kid.  But  Ken's  here 
somewhere.  There  are  the  Geralds,"  Miss  Saunders 
added,  leaning  toward  the  old  woman  and  sinking  her 
tone  to  a  low  murmur.  "  Have  you  heard  about  Mason 
Gerald  and  Paula  Billings — oh,  haven  t  you?  Not 
about  the  car  breaking  down — haven't  you?  Well,  my 
dear " 

Julia  lost  the  story,  and  sat  watching  the  room,  a 


276  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

vague  little  smile  curving  her  lips,  her  blue  eyes  moving 
idly  to  and  fro.  She  saw  Mrs.  Toland  come  in  with 
her  two  lovely  daughters.  Julia  had  had  tea  with  them 
that  afternoon  at  the  hotel,  where  they  would  spend  the 
night.  The  orchestra  was  silent  just  now,  and  the 
dancers  were  drifting  about  the  room,  a  great  brilliant 
circle.  Some  of  the  men  were  clapping  their  hands,  all 
of  them  were  laughing  as  they  bent  their  sleek  heads 
toward  their  partners,  and  all  the  girls  were  laughing, 
too,  and  talking  animatedly  as  they  raised  wide-open 
eyes.  Julia  admired  the  gowns:  shining  pink  and 
cloudy  pink,  blue  with  lace  and  blue  with  spangles, 
white  alone,  and  white  with  every  colour  in  the  world;  a 
yellow  and  black  gown  that  was  indescribably  dashing, 
and  a  yellow  and  black  gown  that  somehow  looked  very 
flat  and  dowdy.  She  noticed  the  Ripley  pearls  on  Miss 
Dolly  Ripley's  scrawny  little  lean  neck,  and  that  charm 
ing  Isabel  Wallace  danced  a  good  deal  with  her  own 
handsome,  shy  young  brothers,  and  seemed  eager  that 
they  should  enjoy  what  was  evidently  their  first  Brown 
ing.  She  studied  the  old  faces,  the  hard  faces,  the  faded 
faces,  the  painted  cheeks  and  powdered  necks;  she  read 
the  tragedy  behind  the  drooping  head  of  some  debutante, 
the  triumph  in  the  high  laugh  of  another.  There  was 
poor  Connie  Fox,  desperately  eager  and  amiable,  danc 
ing  with  the  youngest  men  and  the  oldest  men,  glitter 
ing  and  jolly  in  her  dingy  blue  silk;  and  Connie's  mother, 
who  was  her  chaperon,  a  little  fluttering  fool  of  a 
woman,  nervously  eager  to  ingratiate,  and  nervously 
afraid  to  intrude  her  company  upon  these  demi-gods 
and  goddesses;  and  Theodora  Carleton,  handsome  in 
too  low  cut  a  gown,  laughing  with  Alan  Gregory,  and 
aware,  as  every  one  in  the  room  was  aware,  that  her 
husband's  first  wife  was  also  at  the  dance.  The  room 
grew  warm,  the  air  heavy  with  delicate  perfumes.  Men 
were  mopping  their  faces;  some  of  the  debutantes 
looked  like  wilting  roses;  the  faces  of  some  of  the  older 
women  were  shining.  It  was  midnight,  the  latest  comers 
had  arrived,  the  floor  was  well  filled. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  277 

"I  wonder  if  I  will  be  doing  this  twenty  years  from 
now,"  thought  Julia.  "I  wonder  if  my  daughter  will 
come  to  the  Brownings,  then?" 

".  .  .  which  I  call  disgraceful,  don't  you,  Mrs. 
Studdiford?"  asked  Miss  Saunders  suddenly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  Julia  said,  startled  into  atten 
tion,  "I  didn't  hear  you!" 

"I  know  you  didn't,"  the  other  said,  laughing, 
'nevertheless,  it  was  a  low  trick,"  she  added  to  Mrs. 
Thayer,  "and  Leila  Orvis  can  wait  a  long  time  before 
she  makes  the  peace  with  me!  Charity's  all  very  well, 
but  when  it  comes  to  palming  off  girls  like  that  upon 
your  friends,  it's  just  a  little  too  much!" 

"How's  it  happen  ye  didn't  ask  the  girl  for  any  ref 
erences,  me  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Thayer. 

"Because  Leila  told  me  she  knew  all  about  her!" 
snapped  Miss  Saunders. 

"What  was  she,  a  waitress?"  Julia  asked,  amused. 

"No,  she  was  nothing!"  Miss  Saunders  said  in  high 
scorn;  "she'd  had  no  training  whatever — not  that  I 
mind  that.  She  was  simply  supposed  to  help  with  the 
pantry  work  and  make  herself  generally  useful.  Well, 
one  day  Carrie,  a  maid  Mother's  had  for  years,  told 
Mother  that  something  this  Ada  had  said  she  fancied 
Ada  had  been  in  some  sort  of  reform  school — imagine! 
Of  course  poor  Mother  collapsed,  and  Emily  telephoned 
for  me — the  kid  always  rises  to  an  emergency,  I  will  say 
that.  So  I  rushed  home,  and  got  the  whole  story  out 
of  Ada  in  five  minutes.  At  first  she  cried  a  good  deal, 
and  pretended  it  was  an  orphans'  home;  orphans'  home 
—ha!  Finally  I  scared  her  into  admitting  that  it  was  a 
place  just  for  girls  of  her  sort " 

"Fancy!"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  fanning.  Julia  had 
grown  a  little  pale. 

"What  did  you  do,  Miss  Saunders?"  said  she. 

"  Do  ?  I  sent  her  packing,  of  course ! "  said  that  lady, 
smiling  as  she  bowed  to  an  acquaintance  across  the  room. 
"I  told  her  to  go  straight  back  to  Mrs.  Orvis,  and  say  I 
sent  her.  However,  she  didn't,  for  I  telephoned  Leila 


278  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

at  once — Lucy  Bacon  is  trying  to  bow  to  you,  Mrs. 
Studdiford — over  there,  with  your  husband!" 

"I  wonder  where  she  did  go?"  pursued  Julia. 

"I  really  have  no  idea!"  Miss  Saunders  said. 

"You  may  be  sure  she  knew  just  where  to  go,  a  crea 
ture  like  that!"  old  Mrs.  Thayer  said  wisely.  "How 
de  do,  Peter,  Auntie  here?"  she  called  to  a  smiling  man 
who  went  by. 

"Oh,  she  wouldn't  go  utterly  bad,"  Julia  protested; 
"you  can't  tell,  she  may  have  been  decent  for  years. 
It  may  have  been  years  ago " 

"Still,  me  dear,"  old  Mrs.  Thayer  said  comfortably, 
"one  doesn't  like  the  idea — one  can't  overlook  that,  ye 
know." 

"Of  course,  it's  too  bad,"  Miss  Saunders  added 
briskly,  "and  it's  a  great  pity,  and  things  ought  to  be 
different  from  what  they  are,  and  all  that;  but  at  the 
same  time  you  couldn't  have  a  girl  like  that  in  the 
house,  now  could  you  ? " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  could!"  said  Julia,  scarlet  cheeked,  "I  was 
just  thinking  how  glad  I  would  be  to  give  her  a  trial!" 

She  stopped  because  Jim,  very  handsome  in  evening 
dress  and  with  his  pretty  partner  beside  him,  had  come 
up  to  them. 

"Tired,  dear?"  Jim  said,  smiling  approval  of  the 
little  figure  in  white  lace,  and  the  earnest  eyes  under 
loosened  bright  hair. 

"Just  about  time  you  came  up,  Jim!"  Ella  Saunders 
said  cheerfully,  "here's  your  wife  championing  the 
cause  of  unfortunate  girls — she  wouldn't  care  what 
they'd  done,  she'd  take  them  right  into  her  home!" 

"And  very  sweet  and  nice  of  her,"  Mrs.  Thayer  ob 
served,  with  a  consolatory  pat  on  Julia's  arm,  "only  it 
isn't  quite  practical,  me  dear,  is  it,  Jim?" 

"  Julia'd  like  to  take  in  every  cat  and  dog  and  beggar 
and  newsboy  she  sees,"  said  Jim,  with  his  bright  smile. 
But  Julia  knew  he  was  not  pleased.  "Do  you  want 
to  come  speak  to  Mother  and  the  girls,  dear,  before  I 
take  you  home?"  he  added,  offering  his  arm.  Julia 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  279 

stood  up  and  said  her  good-nights,  and  crossed  the  room, 
a  slender  and  most  captivating  little  figure,  at  his  side. 
It  was  not  until  she  was  bundled  into  furs  and  in  the 
motor  car  that  she  could  say,  with  an  appealing  hand 
on  his  arm: 

"Don't  blame  me,  Jimmy.  I  didn't  start  that  topic. 
Miss  Saunders  happened  to  tell  of  a  poor  girl  who " 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  it,"  Jim  said,  removing  her 
hand  by  the  faintest  gesture  of  withdrawing. 

Julia  sighed  and  was  silent.  The  limousine  ran 
smoothly  past  one  lighted  corner  after  another;  turned 
into  Van  Ness  Avenue.  After  a  while  she  said,  a  little 
indignation  burning  through  her  quiet  tone: 

"I've  said  I  was  not  responsible  for  the  conversation, 
Jim.  And  it  seems  to  me  merely  childish  in  you  to  let 
a  casual  remark  affect  you  in  this  way!" 

"All  right,  then,  I'm  childish!"  Jim  said  grimly,  fold 
ing  his  arms  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  seat. 

Julia  sighed  again.     Presently  Jim  burst  out: 

"I'm  affected  by  a  casual  remark,  yes,  I  admit  it. 
But  my  God,  doesn't  it  mean  anything  to  you  that  I 
have  my  pride,  that  when  I  think  of  my  wife  I  want 
to  feel  that  she  is  more  perfect  in  every  way — in 
every  way — than  all  the  other  women  in  the  world?" 
He  stopped,  breathing  hard,  and  resumed,  a  little  less 
violently:  "All  I  ask  is,  Julia,  that  you  let  such  sub 
jects  alone.  You're  not  called  upon  to  defend  such 
girls!  Surely  that's  not  too  much  to  ask!" 

Julia  did  not  answer;  she  sat  silent  and  sick.  And  as 
Jim  did  not  speak  again,  except  to  mutter  "My  God!" 
once  or  twice,  they  reached  the  house  in  silence,  and 
separated  with  a  brief  "Good-night."  Ellie  was  wait 
ing  for  Julia,  eager  to  hear  what  Miss  Jane  wore,  and 
Miss  Constance  wore,  and  how  "Miss  Teddy"  looked. 

"I  am  absolutely  done,  Ellie,"  said  the  mistress, 
when  the  filmy  lace  gown  was  back  in  its  box,  and  she 
was  comfortably  settled  on  her  pillows,  "so  don't  come 
in  until  I  ring." 

"And   I   hope  you'll  get   a  long  sleep,"   Ellie  said 


280  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

approvingly,    "you've    got   to    take    care   of  yourself 
now!" 

Julia's  little  daughter  was  born  on  a  June  day  in  the 
lovely  Ross  Valley  house  the  Studdifords  had  taken  for 
the  summer. 

They  had  moved  into  the  house  in  April,  because 
Julia's  hopes  made  a  later  move  unwise,  and,  delighted 
to  get  into  the  sweet  green  country  so  early  in  the  year, 
and  to  have  the  best  of  excuses  for  leading  the  quiet 
life  she  loved,  she  bloomed  like  a  rose.  She  was  in 
splendid  health  and  in  continual  good  spirits;  her  exul 
tant  confidence  indeed  lasted  until  the  very  day  of  the 
baby's  birth. 

The  day  was  late,  and  the  pretty  nurse,  Miss 
Wheaton,  had  been  in  the  house  for  nearly  two  weeks 
before  Julia  herself  came  to  her  door,  in  the  first  pearl 
dawning  to  say,  still  laughingly,  that  the  hour  had  come. 
A  swift,  well-ordered  period  of  excitement  ensued;  the 
maids  were  silent,  awed,  efficient;  Miss  Wheaton  au 
thoritative,  crisp,  ready  with  technical  terms;  and  Jim 
as  nervous  and  upset  as  if  he  were  absolutely  ignorant 
of  all  things  physiological,  utterly  dependent  upon  the 
skill  and  knowledge  of  the  nurse,  humbly  obedient  to 
her  will.  The  telephone  rang  and  rang.  Julia,  the 
centre  of  this  whole  thrilling  drama,  wandered  about  in 
her  great  plum-coloured  silk  dressing-gown,  commenting 
cheerfully  enough  upon  the  various  rapid  changes  that 
were  being  made  in  her  room.  She  picked  up  the  little 
pink  blanket  that  had  been  hung  upon  a  white-enamelled 
clothes-horse,  by  the  fire,  and  pressed  it  to  her  cheek. 
But  now  and  then  she  stopped  walking,  and  put  her 
hand  out  toward  the  back  of  a  chair  as  if  she  needed  sup- 

Jortr  and  then  an  expression  crossed  her  face  that  made 
im's  soul  sicken  within  him:  an  expression  of  fear  and 
wonderment   and   childish   surprise.     At  nine  o'clock 
Miss  Toland  came  in,  a  little  pale,  but  very  cheerful  and 
reassuring. 

"I'm  afraid — my  nerve — will  give  out,  Aunt  Sanna!'3 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  281 

Julia  said,  beginning  her  restless  march  again,  after  a 
hot  quick  kiss. 

"Hear  her!"  said  the  nurse,  with  a  laugh  of  bright 
scorn.  "Don't  talk  any  nonsense  like  that,  Mrs.  Stud- 
diford.  Why,  she's  the  coolest  of  us  all!" 

"Oh,  no — I'm  not — oh,  no — I'm  not!"  Julia  moaned. 

"Your  doctor  says  you're  doing  splendidly,  and  that 
another  two  hours  ought  to  see  everything  well  over!" 
Miss  Toland  said,  trying  to  keep  the  acute  distress  she 
felt  out  of  her  tone. 

"I  feel  so — nauseated!"  Julia  complained.  "So — 
uncertain!" 

"Yes,  I  know/'  the  nurse  said  soothingly,  whisking 
out  of  the  room.  Miss  Toland  followed  her  into  the 
hall. 

"She's  in  great  pain,  she  won't  have  much  of  this?" 
asked  the  older  woman  anxiously. 

"She's  not  suffering  much,"  the  nurse  said  brightly, 
after  a  cautious  glance  at  Julia's  closed  door.  "This 
isn't  much — yet.  She's  a  little  scared,  that's  all!" 

Hating  the  nurse  from  the  depth  of  her  heart,  Miss 
Toland  went  downstairs  to  see  the  doctor.  Jim  was 
sitting  with  a  newspaper  on  the  porch,  trying  to  smoke. 
He  jumped  up  nervously. 

"Where's  Doctor  Lippincott?"  demanded  Miss  To 
land. 

"He  ran  in  to  San  Rafael.     Back  directly." 

"Ran  in  to  San  Rafael?  And  you  let  him!  Why,  I 
don't  see  how  he  dared,  Jim!" 

"Oh,  I  guess  he  knows  his  business,  Aunt  Sanna!" 
Jim  said  miserably.  "Do  you  suppose  I  can  go  up  for 
a  while?" 

"Yes,  go,"  said  Miss  Toland.  "I  think  she  wants 
you,  God  bless  her!" 

But  Julia  wanted  nobody  and  nothing.  Jim's  pres 
ence,  his  concerned  voice  and  sympathetic  eyes,  only 
vaguely  added  to  her  distress.  She  was  frightened  now, 
terrified  at  the  recurring  paroxysms  of  pain;  she  recoiled 
from  the  breezy  matter-of-factness  of  the  doctor  and 


282  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

the  nurse;  the  elaborate  preparations  for  the  crisis  of 
fended  every  delicate  instinct  of  her  nature.  She  felt  that 
the  room  was  hot,  and  complained  of  the  fire;  but  a  few 
moments  later  her  teeth  chattered  with  a  chill,  and  Miss 
Wheaton  closed  the  wide  windows  through  which  a 
June  breeze  was  wandering. 

The  day  dragged  on.  The  doctor  came  back,  talked 
to  Jim  and  Miss  Toland  during  luncheon  about  mush 
room-raising,  went  upstairs  to  send  Miss  Wheaton 
down  to  her  lunch,  and  to  watch  the  patient  a  little 
while  for  himself.  Jim  went  up,  too,  but  was  sent  down 
to  reassure  Mrs.  Toland,  who  had  arrived,  and  with 
Miss  Sanna  was  holding  a  vigil  in  the  pretty  cretonne- 
hung  drawing-room.  He  was  crossing  the  hall  to  go 
upstairs  again,  when  a  sound  from  above  held  him  rigid 
and  cold.  A  long  low  moan  of  utter  weariness  and 
anguish  drifted  through  the  pleasant  silence  of  the 
house,  died  away,  and  rose  again. 

Slowly  the  sense  of  tragedy  deepened  about  them. 
Mrs.  Toland  was  white;  Miss  Toland's  face  was  streaked 
with  tears.  The  moaning  was  almost  incessant  now, 
but  Jim  in  the  hall  could  hear  the  nurse  murmur  above 
it,  and  now  and  then  the  doctor's  voice,  short  and 
sharp. 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  come  in  and  give  her  a  little 
chloroform,  Jim?"  said  Doctor  Lippincott,  a  pleasant, 
middle-aged  man  in  a  white  linen  suit  and  cap,  appear 
ing  suddenly  in  the  door  of  Julia's  room.  "I  think  we 
can  ease  her  along  a  little  now,  and  I  need  Miss  Wheat- 


on." 


Jim  pushed  his  hair  back  with  a  wet  hand;  cleared 
his  throat. 

"Sure.  D'you  want  me  to  scrub  up?"  he  asked 
huskily. 

"Oh,  no — no,  my  dear  boy!  Everything's  going 
splendidly."  The  doctor  beckoned  him  in,  and  shut 
the  door.  "Now,  Mrs.  Studdiford,"  said  he,  "we'll 
be  all  right  here  in  no  time!" 

Julia  did  not  answer;  she  did  not  open  her  eyes  even 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  283 

when  Jim  took  her  moist  hot  hand  in  one  of  his,  and 
brushed  back  the  lovely  tumbled  hair  from  her  wet 
forehead.  She  was  breathing  deep  and  violently,  as  if 
she  had  been  running.  Presently  she  beat  upon  the 
bed  with  one  clenched  fist,  and  began  to  toss  her  head 
from  side  to  side.  Then  the  stifled  moan  began  to 
escape  from  her  bitten  lips  again,  her  face  worked  piti 
fully,  and  she  began  to  cry. 

"Now,  crowd  it  on,  Jim!"  Doctor  Lippincott  said, 
nodding  toward  the  chloroform. 

"Breathe  deep,  breathe  it  in,  my  darling!"  Jim  urged, 
pouring  the  sweet,  choking  stuff  upon  the  little  mask 
he  held  above  the  tortured  face. 

"You  aren't— helping  me— at  all!"  Julia  muttered, 
in  a  deep  hoarse  voice.  But  her  shrill  thin  cry  sank  to 
a  moan  again;  she  stammered  incoherent  words. 

So  struggling  and  sobbing,  now  quieter  under  the 
anaesthetic,  now  crying  aloud,  the  next  long  hour  some 
how  passed  for  the  helpless,  suffering  little  animal  that 
was  Julia.  A  climax  came,  and  the  kindly  chloroform 
smothered  the  last  terrible  cry. 

Julia  awoke  to  a  realization  that  something  was  snap 
ping  brightly,  like  wood  on  a  fire;  that  the  cottony  fumes 
in  her  head  were  breaking,  drifting  away;  that  common 
place  cheerful  voices  were  saying  things  very  near  her. 
She  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  infinite  space  to  this 
wretchedly  uncomfortable  bed  and  this  wretchedly 
uncomfortable  position.  She  wanted  a  pillow;  her  head 
was  rocking  with  pain,  and  her  forehead  was  sticky  with 
moisture.  Yet  under  and  over  all  other  sensations  was 
the  heavenly  relief  from  the  familiar  agonies  of  the  day. 
She  felt  so  tired  that  the  mere  thought  of  beginning  to 
rest  distressed  her;  she  would  not  open  her  eyes;  her 
lids  seemed  sealed.  She  felt  faintly  worried  because 
she  could  not  seem  to  intelligently  grasp  the  subject  of 
Honolulu. 

"Honolulu?  Honolulu?"  This  was  the  doctor's 
pleasant  drawl.  "No.  I  haven't.  Mrs.  Lippincott's 


284  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

people  live  in  New  York,  so  our  junketings  are  usually 
in  that  direction." 

"Ah,  well,  you'd  like  Honolulu,"  Miss  Wheaton's 
voice  answered.  A  pause.  Then  she  said,  "I  put  some 
wood  on.  It's  not  so  warm  to-day  as  it  was  yesterday." 

Julia  strove  in  vain  to  pierce  the  meaning  of  these 
cryptic  words.  Presently  the  doctor  said,  "Perfectly 
normal?"  more  as  a  statement  than  a  question,  and 
Miss  Wheaton  answered  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice,  "Oh, 
absolutely." 

Julia  opened  her  eyes,  looked  up  into  the  nurse's  face, 
and  with  returning  consciousness  came  self-pity. 

"I  couldn't  do  it,  Miss  Wheaton,"  she  whispered 
pitifully,  with  trembling  lips. 

"Hello,  little  girlie,  you're  beginning  to  feel  better, 
aren't  you  ? "  Miss  Wheaton  said.  "  Here  she  is,  Doctor, 
as  fine  as  silk." 

Julia's  languid  eyes  found  the  doctor's  kindly  face. 

"But  the  baby?"  she  faltered,  with  a  rush  of  tears. 

"The  baby  is  a  very  noisy  young  woman,"  said  Doc 
tor  Lippincott  cheerfully.  "I  wrapped  her  in  her  pink 
thingamagig,  and  she's  right  here  in  Jim's  room,  getting 
her  first  bath  from  her  granny." 

"Really?"  Julia  whispered.  "You  wouldn't — fool 
me  ? " 

"Listen  to  her!"  Miss  Wheaton  said.  "Now,  my 
dear,  don't  you  be  nervous.  You've  got  a  perfectly 
lovely  little  girl,  and  you've  come  through  splendidly, 
and  everything's  fine.  If  you  want  to  go  look  at  that 
baby,  Doctor,"  she  added,  "ask  Doctor  Studdiford  to 
send  Ellie  in  here  to  me  and  we'll  straighten  this  all  out. 
Then  we  can  let  him  in  here  to  see  this  young  lady!" 

Presently  Jim  came  in,  to  kneel  beside  Julia's  bed, 
and  gather  her  little  limp  hands  to  his  lips,  and  murmur 
incoherent  praise  of  his  brave  girl,  his  darling  little 
mother,  his  little  old  sweetheart,  dearer  than  a  thousand 
babies.  Julia  heard  him  dreamily,  raised  languid  eyes, 
and  after  a  little  while  stroked  his  hair.  She  was 
spent,  exhausted,  hammered  by  the  agony  of  a  few  short 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  285 

hours  into  this  pale  ghost  of  herself,  and  he  was  strong 
and  well,  the  red  blood  running  confident  and  audacious 
in  his  veins.  Their  spirits  could  not  meet  to-night. 
But  she  loved  his  praise,  loved  to  feel  his  cheek  wet 
against  her  hand,  and  she  began  to  be  glad  it  was  all 
over,  that  peace  at  last  had  found  the  big  pleasant 
room,  where  firelight  and  the  last  soft  brightness  of  the 
June  day  mingled  so  pleasantly  on  rosy  wall  paper  and 
rosy  curtains. 

"She's  a  little  darling,"  said  Jim.  "Mother  says 
she's  the  prettiest  tiny  baby  she  ever  saw.  Poor  Aunt 
Sanna  and  Mother  had  a  great  old  cry  together!" 

"Ah!"  said  Julia  hungrily.  For  Miss  Toland  had 
come  stepping  carefully  in,  the  precious  pink  blanket 
in  her  arms. 

"  I'm  to  bring  her  to  say  ' Good-night '  to  her  mother ! " 
said  Miss  Toland.  " How  are  you,  dear  ?  All  forgotten 
now?" 

The  pink  miracle  was  laid  beside  Julia;  she  shifted  her 
sore  body  just  a  trifle  to  make  room,  and  spread  weak 
fingers  to  raise  the  blanket  from  the  baby's  face.  A 
little  crumpled  rose  leaf  of  a  face,  a  shock  of  soft  black 
hair,  and  two  tiny  hands  that  curved  warmly  against 
Julia's  investigating  finger.  All  the  rest  was  delicate 
lawn  and  soft  wool. 

The  baby  wrinkled  her  little  countenance,  her  tiny 
mouth  opened,  and  Julia  heard  for  the  first  time  her 
daughter's  rasping,  despairing,  bitter  little  cry.  A 
passion  of  ecstasy  flooded  her  heart;  she  dropped  her 
soft  pale  cheek  close  to  the  little  creased  one. 

"Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!"  she  breathed.  "Oh, 
you  little  perfect,  helpless,  innocent  thing!  Oh,  Jim, 
she's  crying,  the  angel!  Oh,  I  do  thank  God  for  her!" 
she  ended  softly. 

"I  thank  God  you're  so  well,"  said  Miss  Toland. 
"Here,  you  can't  keep  her!" 

"Anna,  go  with  Aunt  Sanna,"  Julia  said  weakly. 

"Anna,  eh?"  Miss  Toland  said,  wrapping  up  the  pink 
blanket. 


286  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Anna  Toland  Studdiford,"  Jim  answered.  "Julia 
had  that  all  fixed  up  weeks  ago!" 

"Well — now — you  children!"  Miss  Toland  said,  look 
ing  from  one  to  the  other,  with  her  half-vexed  and  half- 
approving  laugh.  "  What  do  you  want  to  name  her  that 
for  ? " 

"/  know  what  for/'  Julia  smiled,  as  she  watched  the 
pink  blanket  out  of  sight. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Toland  crept  in,  just  for  a  kiss,  and 
a  whimpered,  "And  now  you  must  forget  all  the  pain, 
dear,  and  just  be  happy!" 

Then  Julia  was  left  to  her  own  thoughts. 

She  watched  Miss  Wheaton  come  and  go  in  the  soft 
twilight.  A  shaded  light  bloomed  suddenly,  where  it 
would  not  distress  her  eyes.  The  curtains  were  drawn, 
and  Ellie  came  softly  in  with  a  pitcher  of  hot  milk  on  a 
tray.  Now  and  then  the  baby's  piercing  little  "Oo- 
wah-wah!"  came  in  from  the  next  room,  and  when  she 
heard  it,  Julia* smiled  and  said  faintly,  "The  darling!" 

And  as  a  ship  that  has  been  blown  seaward,  to  meet 
the  gales  and  to  be  battered  upon  rocks,  might  be 
caught  at  last  by  friendlier  tides  and  carried  safely 
home,  so  Julia  felt  herself  carried,  a  helpless  little  wreck, 
too  tired  to  care  if  the  waves  flung  her  far  up  on  shore 
or  drew  her  out  to  their  mad  embraces  again. 

"All  forgotten?"  Miss  Toland  had  asked,  from  her 
fifty  years  of  ignorance,  and  "Now  you  must  forget  all 
the  pain,"  Mrs.  Toland  had  said,  with  her  motherly 
smile. 

Queer,  drifting  thoughts  came  and  went  in  her  active 
brain  during  these  quiet  days  of  convalescence.  She 
thought  of  girls  she  had  known  at  The  Alexander,  girls 
who  had  cried,  and  who  had  been  blamed  and  ostracised, 
girls  who  had  gone  to  the  City  and  County  Hospital  for 
their  bitter  hour,  and  had  afterward  put  the  babies  in 
the  Asylum!  Julia's  thoughts  went  by  the  baby  in  the 
next  room,  and  at  the  picture  of  that  tender  helplessness, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  287 

wronged  and  abandoned,  her  heart  seemed  to  close  like 
a  closing  hand. 

Anna  Toland  Studdiford  would  never  be  abandoned, 
no  fear  of  that.  Never  was  baby  more  closely  sur 
rounded  with  love  and  the  means  of  protection.  But 
the  other  babies,  just  as  dear  to  other  women,  what  of 
them?  What  of  mother  hearts  that  must  go  through 
life  knowing  that  there  are  little  cries  they  will  never 
hear,  tears  they  may  never  dry,  tired  little  bodies  that 
will  never  know  the  restfulness  of  gentle  arms?  The 
terrible  sum  of  unnecessary  human  suffering  rose  up 
like  a  black  cloud  all  about  her;  she  seemed  to  see  long 
hospital  wards,  with  silent  forms  filling  them  day  and 
night,  night  and  day,  the  long  years  through;  she  had 
glimpses  of  the  crowded  homes  of  the  poor,  the  sick  and 
helpless  mothers,  the  crying  babies.  She  suddenly 
knew  sickness  and  helplessness  to  be  two  of  the  greatest 
factors  in  human  life. 

"What  if  Heaven  is  only  this  earth,  clean  and  right 
at  last,"  mused  Julia,  "and  Hell  only  the  realization  of 
what  we  might  have  done,  and  didn't  do — for  each 
other!"  And  to  Jim  she  said,  smiling,  "This  experi 
ence  has  not  only  given  me  a  baby,  and  given  me  my 
own  motherhood,  but  it  seems  to  have  given  me  all  the 
mothers  and  the  babies  in  the  world  as  well !  I  wish  you 
were  a  baby  doctor,  Jim — the  preservation  of  babies  is 
the  most  important  thing  in  the  world!" 

Slowly  the  kindly  tides  brought  her  back  to  life,  and 
against  her  own  belief  that  it  would  ever  be  so,  she 
found  herself  walking  again,  essaying  the  stairs,  taking 
her  place  at  the  table.  Miss  Wheaton  went  away,  the 
capable  Caroline  took  her  place,  and  Julia  was  well. 

Caroline  was  a  silent,  nice-looking,  efficient  woman 
of  forty.  She  knew  everything  there  was  to  know  about 
babies,  and  had  more  than  one  book  to  consult  when 
she  forgot  anything.  She  had  been  married,  and  had 
two  handsome  sturdy  little  girls  of  her  own,  so  that 
little  Anna's  rashes  and  colics,  her  crying  days  and  the 
days  in  which  she  seemed  to  Julia  alarmingly  good,  pre- 


288  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

sented  no  problems  to  Caroline.  There  was  nothing 
Julia  could  tell  her  about  sterilizing,  or  talcum  powder, 
or  keeping  light  out  of  the  baby's  eyes,  or  turning  her 
over  in  her  crib  from  time  to  time  so  that  she  shouldn't 
develop  one-sidedly. 

More  than  this,  Anna  was  a  good  baby;  she  seemed  to 
have  something  of  her  mother's  silent  sweetness.  She 
ran  through  her  limited  repertory  of  eating,  sleeping, 
bathing,  and  blinking  at  her  friends  with  absolute  regu 
larity. 

"I'd  just  like  you  to  leave  the  door  open  so  that  if  she 
should  cry  at  night "  Julia  said. 

"But  she  never  does  cry  at  night!"  Caroline  smiled. 

Julia  persisted  for  some  time  that  she  wanted  to  bathe 
the  baby  every  day,  but  before  Anna  was  two  months 
old  she  had  to  give  up  the  idea.  It  became  too  diffi 
cult  to  do  what  nobody  in  the  house  wanted  her  tc 
do,  and  what  Caroline  was  only  too  anxious  to  perform 
in  her  stead.  Jim  liked  to  loiter  over  his  breakfast,  and 
showed  a  certain  impatience  when  Julia  became  restive. 

"What  is  it,  dear?  What's  Lizzie  say?  Caroline 
wants  you?" 

"It's  just  that — it's  ten  o'clock,  Jim,  and  Caroline 
sent  down  to  know  if  I  am  going  to  give  Anna  her  bath 
this  morning!" 

"Oh,  bath — nothing!  Let  Caroline  wait — what's  the 
rush?" 

"It's  only  that  baby  gets  so  cross,  Jim!"  Julia  would 
plead. 

"Well,  let  her.  You  know  you  mustn't  spoil  her, 
Julie.  If  there's  one  thing  that's  awful  it's  a  house  run 
by  a  spoiled  kid !  Do  let's  have  our  breakfast  in  peace ! " 

Julia  might  here  gracefully  concede  the  point,  and 
send  a  message  to  Caroline  to  go  on  without  her.  Or 
she  might  make  the  message  a  promise  to  perform  the 
disputed  duty  herself,  "in  just  a  few  minutes." 

She  would  run  into  the  nursery  breathlessly,  and  take 
the  baby  in  her  arms.  Everything  would  be  in  readi 
ness,  the  water  twinkling  in  the  little  bathtub,  soap  and 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  289 

powder,  fresh  little  clothes,  and  woolly  bath  apron  all  in 
order. 

"  But  hush,  Sweetest !  How  cross  she  is  this  morning, 
Caroline!" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Studdiford.  You  see  she  ought  to  be 
having  her  bottle  now,  it's  nearly  eleven!  Dear  little 
thing,  she  was  so  good  and  patient." 

"Well,  darling,  Mudder'll  be  as  quick  as  she  can," 
Julia  might  console  the  baby,  and  under  Caroline's  cool 
eye,  and  with  Anna  screaming  until  she  was  scarlet  from 
her  little  black  crown  to  the  soles  of  her  feet,  the  bath 
would  somehow  proceed.  Ellie  might  put  her  head  in 
the  door. 

"Well — oh,  the  poor  baby,  were  they  'busing  Ellie's 
baby?"  she  would  croon,  coming  in.  "Don't  you  care, 
because  Ellie's  going  to  beat  'em  all  with  sticks!" 

Caroline  anticipated  Julia's  every  need  on  these  occa 
sions:  the  little  heap  of  discarded  apparel  was  whisked 
away,  band  and  powder  were  promptly  presented,  the 
bath  vanished,  the  clothes-rack  with  it's  tiny  hangers 
was  gone,  and  Julia  had  a  moment  in  which  to  hug  the 
weary,  sleepy,  hungry,  fragrant  little  lump  of  girlhood 
in  her  arms. 

" Bottle  ready,  Caroline?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Studdiford.  She  goes  out  on  the  porch 
now,  for  her  nap.  Come  to  Caroline,  darling,  and  get 
something  goody-good." 

And  so  Julia  had  no  choice  but  to  go,  wandering  a 
little  disconsolately  to  her  own  room,  and  wishing  the 
baby  took  her  nap  at  another  hour  and  could  be  played 
with  now. 

Presently  outside  interests  began  to  claim  her  again, 
dressmakers  and  manicures,  shopping  and  the  essential 
letter  writing  rilled  the  mornings,  luncheons  kept  her 
late  into  the  afternoons,  there  were  calls  and  card 
playing  and  teas.  Julia  would  have  only  a  few  minutes 
in  the  nursery  before  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner; 
sometimes  Jim  came  in  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  beautiful, 
serene  little  Anna,  in  her  beautiful  mother's  arms;  more 


290  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

often  he  was  late,  and  Julia,  trailing  her  evening  gown 
behind  her,  would  fly  for  studs,  and  pull  the  boot-trees 
from  Jim's  shining  pumps. 

In  September  they  went  to  Burlingame  for  the  polo 
tournament,  and  here,  on  an  unseasonably  hot  day, 
Jim  had  an  ugly  little  touch  of  the  sun,  and  for  two  or 
three  days  was  very  ill.  They  were  terrible  days  to 
Julia.  Richie  came  to  her  at  once,  and  they  took 
possession  of  the  house  of  a  friend,  where  Jim  had 
chanced  to  be  carried,  and  sent  to  San  Rafael  for  Julia's 
servants;  but  two  splendid  nurses  kept  her  out  of  the 
sickroom,  and  the  baby  was  in  San  Rafael,  so  that  Julia 
wandered  about  utterly  at  a  loss  to  occupy  heart  or 
hands. 

On  the  third  day  the  fever  dropped,  and  Julia  crept 
in  to  laugh  and  cry  over  her  big  boy.  Jim  got  well  very 
quickly,  and  just  a  week  from  the  day  of  the  accident 
he  and  Julia  went  home  to  the  enchanting  Anna,  and 
began  to  plan  for  a  speedy  removal  to  the  Pacific  Ave 
nue  house,  so  that  the  little  episode  was  apparently 
quite  forgotten  by  the  time  they  were  back  in  the  city 
and  the  season  opened. 

But  looking  back,  months  later,  Julia  knew  that  she 
could  date  a  definite  change  in  their  lives  from  that 
time.  Whether  his  slight  sunstroke  had  really  given 
Jim's  mind  a  little  twist,  or  whether  the  shock  left  him 
unable  to  throw  off  oppressing  thoughts  with  his  old 
buoyancy,  his  wife  did  not  know.  But  she  knew  that  a 
certain  sullen,  unresponsive  mood  possessed  him.  He 
brooded,  he  looked  upon  her  with  a  heavy  eye,  he  sighed 
deeply  when  she  drew  his  attention  to  the  lovely  little 
Anna. 

Julia  knew  by  this  time  that  marriage  was  not  all 
happiness,  all  irresponsible  joy.  She  had  often  wondered 
why  the  women  she  knew  did  not  settle  themselves 
seriously  to  a  study  of  its  phases,  when  the  cloudless 
days  inevitably  gave  place  to  something  incompre 
hensible  and  disturbing.  Even  lovers  like  Kennedy 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  291 

and  her  husband  had  their  times  of  being  wholly  out  of 
sympathy  with  each  other,  she  knew,  and  she  and  Jim 
were  not  angels;  they  must  only  try  to  be  patient  and 
forbearing  until  the  dark  hour  went  by. 

With  a  sense  of  unbearable  weight  at  her  heart  she 
resigned  herself  to  the  hard  task  of  endurance.  Some 
times  with  a  bitter  rush  would  come  the  memory  of  how 
they  had  loved  each  other,  and  then  Julia  surrendered 
herself  to  long  paroxysms  of  tears;  it  was  so  hard,  so 
bewildering,  to  have  Jim  cold  and  quiet,  to  live  in  this 

Jainful  alternation  of  hope  and  fear.  But  she  never  let 
im  see  her  tears,  and  told  herself  bravely  that  life  held 
some  secret  agony  for  every  one,  and  that  she  must  bear 
her  share  of  the  world's  burden. 

How  had  it  all  come  about,  she  wondered.  Her 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  honeymoon,  and  she  had  an 
aching  memory  of  Central  Park  in  its  fresh  green,  of  Jim 
laughing  at  her  when  she  tried  to  be  very  matronly,  in 
her  kimono,  over  their  breakfast  tray.  Oh,  the  ex 
quisite  happy  days,  the  cloudless,  wonderful  time! 

She  left  the  thought  of  it  for  the  winter  that  followed. 
That  had  been  happy,  too.  Not  like  the  New  York 
months,  not  without  its  grave  misgivings,  not  without 
its  hours  of  bitter  pain,  yet  happy  on  the  whole.  Then 
Honolulu,  all  so  bright  a  memory  until  that  hour  on  the 
ship — that  first  horrible  premonition  of  so  much  misery 
that  was  to  follow.  The  San  Mateo  summer  had  some 
how  widened  the  wordless,  mysterious  gap  between 
them,  and  the  winter!  Julia  shuddered  as  she  thought 
of  the  winter.  Where  was  her  soul  while  her  body  danced 
and  dressed  and  dined  and  slept  through  those  hot 
hours?  Where  was  any  one's  soul  in  that  desperate 
whirl  of  amusement  ? 

But  she  had  found  her  soul  again,  on  the  June  day  of 
Anna's  coming.  And  with  Anna  had  come  to  her  what 
new  hopes  and  fears,  what  new  potentialities  and  new 
sensibilities!  She  had  always  been  silent,  reserved, 
stoical  by  nature,  accepting  what  life  brought  her  un- 
comprehendingly,  only  instinctively  and  steadily  fight- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

ing  toward  that  ideal  that  had  so  long  ago  inspired  her 
girlhood.  Now  she  was  awake,  quivering  with  exqui 
site  emotions,  trembling  with  eagerness  to  adjust  her 
life,  and  taste  its  full  delicious  savour.  Now  she 
wanted  to  laugh  and  to  talk,  to  sit  singing  to  her  baby  in 
the  firelight,  to  run  to  meet  her  husband  and  fling  her 
self  into  his  arms  for  pure  joy  in  life,  and  joy  that  she 
was  beautiful  and  young  and  mother  of  the  dearest 
baby  in  the  world,  and  wife  of  the  wisest  and  best  of 
men.  The  past  was  blotted  out  for  Julia  now;  her  place 
in  society  was  undisputed,  not  only  as  the  wife  of  the 
rich  young  consulting  surgeon,  but  for  herself  as  well, 
and  she  could  make  as  little  or  as  much  as  she  pleased  of 
society's  claim.  From  her  sickness  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
learned  that  there  is  suffering  and  sorrow  enough  in  the 
world  without  the  need  of  deliberately  sustaining  the  old 
and  long-atoned  wrongs.  More  than  that,  she  had 
come  to  regard  her  own  fine  sense  of  right  as  a  safer  guide 
than  any  other,  and  by  this  she  was  absolved  of  the 
shadowy  sin  of  her  girlhood :  the  years,  the  hours  she  had 
prayed,  the  long  interval,  absolved  her.  Julia  felt  as  if 
she  had  been  born  again. 

In  this  mood  Jim  did  not  join  her.  As  the  weeks 
went  by  his  aspect  grew  darker  and  more  dark,  and  life 
in  the  Pacific  Avenue  house  became  a  thing  of  long 
silences  and  rare  and  stilted  phrases,  and  for  the  brief 
time  daily  that  they  were  alone  together,  husband, and 
wife  were  wretchedly  unhappy,  Jim  watching  his  wife 
gloomily,  Julia  feeling  that  his  look  could  chill  her 
happiest  mood.  She  had  sometimes  suspected  that  this 
state  of  affairs  existed  between  other  husbands  and 
wives,  and  marvelled  that  life  went  smoothly  on;  there 
were  dinners  and  dances,  there  were  laughter  and  light 
speech.  Jim  might  merely  answer  her  half-timid,  half- 
confident  "Good-morning"  with  only  a  jerk  of  his  head; 
he  might  eat  his  breakfast  in  silence,  and  accord  to 
Julia's  brief  outline  of  dinner  or  evening  engagements 
only  a  scowling  monosyllable.  Yet  the  day  proceeded, 
there  was  the  baby  to  visit,  a  dressmaker's  appointment 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  293 

to  keep,  luncheon  and  the  afternoon's  plans  to  be  gotten 
through,  and  then  there  was  the  evening  again,  and  Jim 
and  herself  dressing  in  adjoining  rooms  in  utter  silence, 
silently  descending  to  welcome  their  guests,  or  silently 
whirling  off  in  the  limousine. 

Sometimes  she  fancied  that  when  she  resolutely 
assumed  a  cheerful  tone,  and  determined  to  fight  this  un 
wholesome  atmosphere  with  honest  bravery,  she  merely 
succeeded  in  making  Jim's  mood  uglier  than  ever. 
Often  she  tried  a  shy  tenderness,  but  with  no  success. 

One  day  when  Miss  Toland  was  lunching  with  her 
Julia  made  some  allusion  to  the  subject,  in  answer  to  the 
older  woman's  comment  that  she  did  not  look  very  well. 

"I'm  not  very  well,  Aunt  Sanna,"  said  Julia,  pushing 
her  plate  away,  and  resting  both  slim  elbows  on  the 
table.  "I'm  worried." 

"Not  about  Anna?"  Miss  Toland  asked  quickly. 

"No — o!  Anna,  God  bless  her,  is  simply  six-months- 
old  perfection!"  Julia  said,  with  a  brief  smile.  "No — 
about  myself  and  Jim." 

Miss  Toland  gave  her  a  shrewd  glance. 

"Quarrelled,  eh?"  she  said  simply. 

"Oh,  no!"  Julia  felt  her  eyes  watering.  "No.  I 
almost  wish  we  had.  Because  then  I  could  go  to  him, 
and  say  T'm  sorry!'"  she  stammered. 

"Sorry  for  what?"  demanded  Miss  Toland. 

"For  whatever  I'd  done!"  elucidated  Julia,  with  her 
April  smile. 

"Yes,  but  suppose  he'd  done  it,  what  then?"  Miss 
Toland  asked. 

"Ah,  well,"  Julia  hesitated.  "Jim  doesn't  do  things!" 
she  said  vaguely. 

"Jim's  in  one  of  his  awful  moods,  I  suppose?"  his 
adopted  aunt  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"Oh,  in  a  dreadful  one!"  Julia  confessed. 

"How  long— days?" 

"Weeks,  Aunt  Sanna!" 

"Weeks?  For  the  Lord's  sake,  that's  awful!"  Miss 
Toland  frowned  and  rubbed  the  bridge  of  her  nose. 


294  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"What  gets  into  the  boy?"  she  said  impatiently.  "You 
don't  know  what  it's  about,  I  suppose?" 

Julia  hesitated.  "I  think  it's  that  he  gets  to  thinking 
of  my  old  life,  when  I  was  a  little  nobody,  south  of 
Market  Street,"  she  hazarded  with  as  much  truth  as  she 
could. 

"Oh,  really!"  Miss  Toland  said,  in  a  tone  of  cold 
satire.  But  her  look  fell  with  infinite  tenderness  and 
pity  upon  the  drooping  little  figure  opposite.  "Yet 
there's  nothing  of  the  snob  about  Jim,"  she  mused  un 
happily. 

"Oh,  no!"  Julia  breathed  earnestly. 

"There  isn't,  eh?"  Miss  Toland  said.  "I'm  not  so 
sure.  I'm  not  at  all  sure.  He  isn't  working  too  hard, 
is  he?" 

"He  isn't  working  hard  at  all,"  Julia  said.  "Jim 
doesn't  have  a  case,  to  worry  over,  twice  a  year.  You 
see  it's  either  City  and  County  cases,  that  he  just  goes 
ahead  and  does,  or  else  it's  rich,  rich  people  who  have 
one  of  the  older  doctors,  and  just  call  Jim  in  to  assist  or 
consult.  He  was  a  little  nervous  over  a  demonstration 
before  the  students  the  other  day,  but  at  the  very  last 
second,"  Julia's  quick  smile  flitted  over  her  face,  "at  the 
very  last  second  the  assisting  nurse  dropped  the  cold 
bone — as  they  call  it — that  Jim  was  going  to  transplant. 
Doctor  Chapman  told  him  he'd  bet  Jim  bribed  the  girl 
to  do  it!" 

"H'm!"  Miss  Toland  sai '  '  -ntly.  "But  his 
father  was  just  another  such  m^iay  fellow,  queer  as 
Dick's  hatband!"  she  added,  suddenly,  after  a  pause. 

"Jim's  father?     I  didn't  know  you  knew  him!" 

"Knew  him?  Indeed  I  did!  We  all  lived  in  Hono 
lulu  in  those  days.  Charming,  charming  fellow, 
George  Studdiford,  but  queer.  He  was  very  musical, 
you  know;  he'd  look  daggers  at  you  if  you  happened  to 
sneeze  in  the  middle  of  one  of  his  Beethoven  sonatas. 
Jim's  mother  was  very  sweet,  beautiful,  too,  but  spoiled, 
Julia,  spoiled!" 

"Too  much  money!"  Julia  said,  shaking  htr  head. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Exactly — there  you  have  it!"  Miss  Toland  assented 
triumphantly.  "I've  seen  too  much  of  it  not  to  know 
it.  There's  a  sort  of  dry  rot  about  it;  even  a  fine  fellow 
like  Jim  can't  escape.  But,  my  dear" — her  tone  be 
came  reassuring — "don't  let  it  worry  you.  He'll  get 
over  it.  Just  bide  your  time!" 

"Well,  that's  just  what  I  am  doing,"  Julia  said,  with  a 
rueful  laugh.  "But  it's  like  being  in  a  bad  dream. 
There  is  sorrow  that  you  have  to  bear,  don't  you  know, 
Aunt  Sanna,  like  crippled  children,  or  somebody's  death, 
or  being  poor;  and  then  there  are  these  other  unnatural 
trials,  that  you  just  rebel  against!  I  say  to  myself  that 
I'll  just  be  patient  and  sweet,  and  go  on  filling  my  time 
with  Anna  and  calls  and  dinner  parties,  until  Jim  comes 
to  his  senses  and  tells  me  what  an  angel  I  am,  but  it's 
awfully  hard  to  do  it!  Sometimes  the  house  seems  like 
a  vault  to  me,  in  the  mornings,  even  the  sunshine" — 
Julia's  eyes  watered,  but  she  went  steadily  on — "even 
the  sunshine  doesn't  seem  right,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
eating  ashes  and  cotton!  I  go  about  looking  at  other 
houses,  and  thinking,  *I  wonder  what  men  and  women 
are  being  wretchedly  unhappy  behind  your  plate-glass 
windows!'  I  watch  other  men  and  their  wives  to 
gether,"  pursued  Julia,  smiling  through  tears,  "and 
when  women  say  those  casual  things  they  are  always 
saying,  about  not  loving  your  husband  after  the  first 
few  months,  and  being  disillusioned,  and  meaning  less 
and  less  to  each  other,  I  feel  as  if  it  would  break  my 
heart!"  £ 

"Well,"  Miss  TolaricI  said,  somewhat  distressed,  "of 
course,  I'd  rather  walk  into  a  bull  fight  than  advise — 

"I  know  you  would,"  Julia  hastened  to  assure  her. 
"That's  why  I've  been  talking,"  she  added,  "and  it's 

been  a  real  relief!      Don't  think  I'm  complaining,  Aunt 

Sf$ 
anna 

"No,  my  dear,"  Miss  Toland  said.  "I'll  never  think 
anything  that  isn't  good  of  you,  Julie,"  she  went  on.  "  If 
Jim  Studdiford  is  so  selfish  as  to — to  make  his  wife  un 
happy  for  those  very  facts  that  made  him  first  love  her 


296  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  choose  her,  well,  I  think  the  less  of  Jim,  that's  all  I 
Now  give  me  a  kiss,  and  we'll  go  and  pick  out  something 
for  Barbara's  boy!" 

"Well,  it  may  be  a  pretty  safe  general  rule  not  to  dis 
cuss  your  husband  with  your  women  friends,"  Julia  said 
gayly.  "  But  I  feel  as  if  this  talk  had  taken  a  load  off 
my  heart !  In  books,  of  course,"  she  went  on,  "the  little 
governess  can  marry  the  young  earl,  and  step  right  into 
noble,  not  to  say  royal,  circles,  with  perfect  calm.  But 
in  real  life,  she  has  an  occasional  misgiving.  I  never 
can  quite  forget  that  Jim  was  a  ten-year-old  princeling, 
with  a  pony  and  a  tutor  and  little  velvet  suits,  and 
brushes  with  his  little  initials  on  them,  when  I  was  born 
in  an  O'Farrell  Street  flat!" 

"Well,  if  you  remember  it,"  said  Miss  Toland,  in 
affectionate  disapproval,  "you're  the  only  person  who 
does!" 

Either  the  confidential  chat  with  Miss  Toland  had 
favourably  affected  Julia's  point  of  view,  or  the  state  of 
affairs  between  Jim  and  herself  actually  brightened 
from  that  day.  Julia  noticed  in  his  manner  that  night 
a  certain  awkward  hint  of  reconciliation,  and  with  it  a 
flood  of  tenderness  and  generosity  rose  in  her  own  heart, 
and  she  knew  that,  deeply  as  he  had  hurt  her,  she  was 
ready  to  forgive  him  and  to  be  friends  again. 

So  a  not  unhappy  week  passed,  and  Julia,  with  more 
zest  than  she  had  shown  in  some  months,  began  to  plan  a 
real  family  reunion  for  Thanksgiving,  now  only  some  ten 
days  off.  She  wrote  to  the  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Toland,  to 
the  Carletons  and  Aunt  Sanna,  and  to  Richie,  who  had 
established  himself  in  a  little  cottage  on  Mount  Tamal- 
pais,  and  who  was  somewhat  philanthropically  prac 
tising  his  profession  there.  She  very  carefully  ordered 
special  favours  for  the  occasion,  and  selected  two 
eligible  and  homeless  young  men  from  her  list  of  ac 
quaintances  to  fill  out  the  table  and  to  amuse  Con 
stance  and  Jane.  Jim  had  to  go  to  Sacramento  on  the 
Saturday  before  Thanksgiving  for  an  important  opera- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  297 

tion,  but  would  be  home  again  on  Tuesday  or  Wednes 
day  to  take  the  head  of  his  own  table  on  the  holiday. 

Julia  offered,  when  the  Friday  night  before  his 
departure  came,  to  help  him  with  packing.  They  had 
dined  very  quietly  with  friends  that  night,  and  found 
themselves  at  home  again  not  very  long  after  ten  o'clock. 
But  Jim,  sinking  into  a  chair  beside  the  library  fire, 
with  an  assortment  of  new  magazines  at  his  elbow, 
politely  declined. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you!  Plenty  of  time  for  that  in  the 
morning.  I  don't  go  until  nine/' 

"  Let  Chadwick  do  it,  anyway,  Jim.  Shall  I  tell  Ellie 
to  send  him  up  at  eight  ? " 

"  If  you  will.     Thank  you !     Good-night ! " 

"Good-night!"  And  Julia  trailed  her  satins  and 
laces  slowly  upstairs,  unfastening  her  jewels  as  she  went. 
A  little  sense  of  discouragement  was  fighting  for  pos 
session;  she  fought  it  consciously  as  she  had  fought  such 
waves  of  despondency  a  hundred  times  before.  She 
propped  herself  comfortably  in  pillows,  turned  on  a  light, 
and  began  to  read. 

Ellie  fussed  about  the  room  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  was  gone.  The  big  house  was  very  still.  Eleven 
o'clock  struck  from  the  little  mahogany  clock  on  her 
mantel,  midnight  struck,  and  still  Jim's  footstep  did 
not  come  up  the  stairs,  and  there  was  no  welcome  sound 
of  occupancy  in  the  room  adjoining  her  own. 

Suddenly  terror  smote  Julia;  she  flung  her  book  aside 
and  sat  up  erect  in  bed.  Her  heart  was  thundering  with 
fear;  the  silence  of  the  house  was  like  that  that  follows 
an  explosion. 

For  a  few  dreadful  seconds  she  sat  motionless;  then 
she  thrust  her  bare  feet  in  the  slippers  of  warm  white 
fox  that  Ellie  had  put  out,  and  caught  up  a  Japanese 
robe  of  black  crepe,  in  which  her  figure  was  quite  lost. 
Fasteningthe  wide  obiwith  trembling  fingers,  she  slipped 
out  into  the  hall,  dimly  lighted  and  very  still.  Then 
she  ran  quickly  downstairs. 

What    sight   of  horror  she  expected  to  find  in  the 


298  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

library  she  did  not  know,  but  the  shock  of  revulsion 
when  the  opened  door  showed  her  nothing  more  terrible 
than  Jim,  musing  in  the  firelight,  was  almost  as  bad  as  a 
fright  could  have  been. 

"Oh,  Jim!"  she  panted,  coming  in,  one  hand  pressec 
against    her    heart,    "I     thought     something — I     got 
frightened!" 

Jim  looked  up  with  his  old,  tender,  whimsical  smile, 
the  smile  for  which  she  had  hungered  so  long,  and  held 
out  a  reassuring  hand. 

"Why,  no,  you  poor  kid!"  he  said.  "I've  been  sit 
ting  right  here!" 

"I  thought — and  it  was  so  still — and  you  didn't 
come  up!"  Julia  said,  beginning  to  sob.  And  in  a  mo 
ment  she  was  in  his  arms,  clinging  to  him  in  an  ecstasy  of 
love  and  relief.  For  a  long  blissful  time  they  remained 
so,  the  soft  curve  of  Julia's  cheek  against  Jim's  face,  her 
heart  beating  quick  above  his  own,  her  warm  little  figure, 
in  its  loose,  soft  robe,  gathered  closely  to  him. 

"Feeling  better  now,  old  lady?" 

"Oh,  fine!"  But  Julia's  face  quivered  with  tears 
again  at  the  tone. 

"Well,  then,  what's  this  for? "  He  showed  her  a  drop 
on  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"Be — because  I  love  you  so,  Jim!" 

"Well,  you  needn't  cry  over  it!"  said  Jim  gently. 
"I'm  the  one  that  ought  to  do  the  crying,  Judy,"  he 
added,  with  a  significant  glance  at  her  lovely  flushed 
face  and  tear-bright  blue  eyes. 

Julia  leaned  against  him  with  a  long,  happy  sigh. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  I  came  down!"  she  breathed  con 
tentedly. 

" '  Glad ! ' "  Jim  echoed  soberly.  "  God !  You  don't 
know  what  it  meant  to  me  to  look  up  and  see  my  little 
Geisha  coming  in.  I  was  going  crazy,  I  think!" 

"Ah,  Jimmy,  why  do  you?"  she  coaxed,  one  slender 
arm  about  his  neck. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "Made  that 
way,  I  guess!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  299 

For  a  while  they  were  silent  again,  then  Julia  said 
softly: 

"After  all,  nothing  matters  as  long  as  we  love  each 
other!" 

"No,  no!  You're  right,  Julie/'  he  agreed  seriously. 
''That's  the  only  thing  that  counts.  And  you  do  love 
me,  don't  you?" 

"Love  you!"  Julia  said,  with  a  shaky  laugh. 

"I  get  crazy  notions.  I  nearly  go  mad,  sometimes," 
Jim  confessed.  "I  get  to  brooding — I  know  how  rotten 
it  is!"  He  fell  silent,  staring  into  the  fire.  "Happy?" 
he  asked  presently,  glancing  down  at  her  as  she  rested 
quietly  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  happy!"  Julia  said,  a  break  in  her  voice.  "I 
wish  I  could  die  here,  Jim.  I  wish  I  could  go  to  sleep 
here  and  never  wake  up!" 

"Like  me  as  much  as  that  baby,  eh?"  he  asked,  in  a 
peculiar  tone. 

Julia  sat  up  to  face  him,  her  cheeks  bright  under 
loosening  films  of  hair,  her  eyes  starry  in  the  firelight. 

^  Jimmy,  you  couldn't  be  jealous  of  your  own  baby?" 

"Oh,  couldn't  I?     I  can  be  jealous  of  anything  and 


V.J.1    J  frt,  /V 

'•     — •      —    — '       •4,**1  JVJ.11^       w*  fcx  v^  v*  ^,       AV.J        141    IV*        I,  ^      O        4.111 

over!  She  sighed  luxuriously.  "There's  no  use  of 
my  doing  anything  when  you're  this  way,  Jim — I  can't 
even  remember  that  you  love  me,"  she  went  on  after  a 
silence.  "Everything  seems  changed  and  queer.  Some 
times  I  think  you  hate  me,  sometimes  you  give  me  such 
cold  looks— oh,  you  do,  Jimmy!— they  just  make  me 
feel  sick^and  queer  all  over,  if  you  know  what  I  mean! 
And  oh,"^she  sank  back  again  with  her  head  on  his 
shoulder,  "oh,  if  only  then  I  could  dare  just  come  down 
to  you  here  like  this,  and  make  you  take  me  in  your 
arms,  and  talk  to  me  this  way!" 

"Don't!"  Jim  said  briefly,  kissing  the  top   of  her 
hair. 


300  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"It  just  seems  to  smoulder  in  my  heart !"  Julia  said. 
"I  can't  bear  it!" 


"Don't!"  he  said  again. 

"Ah,  but  what  makes  you  do  it,  Jim?"  she  asked, 
sitting  erect  to  rest  both  wrists  on  his  shoulders,  and 
bring  her  blue  eyes  very  near  his  own.  Jim's  glance  did 
not  meet  hers,  he  looked  sombrely  past  her  at  the  fire. 
Suddenly  she  felt  his  arms  tighten  about  her  with  a 
force  that  almost  hurt  her. 

"Oh,  it's  this!"  he  said  harshly,  "I  love  you— 
you're  mine!  You're  the  thing  I  live  for,  the  thing  I'm 
proudest  of!  I  can't  bear  to  think  there  was  a  time 
when  I  didn't  know  you,  my  little  innocent  girl!  I 
can't  bear — my  God! — to  think  that  you  cared  for 
some  one  else !" 

And  with  swift  force  he  got  to  his  feet,  and  put  her  in 
his  chair.  Julia  sat  motionless  while  he  took  a  restless 
brief  turn  about  the  room.  He  snatched  a  little  jade 
god  from  the  table,  examined  it  closely,  and  put  it  down 
again,  to  come  and  stand  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  one 
arm  flung  across  the  mantel,  and  his  gloomy  eyes  fixed 
on  her.  Julia  met  the  rushing,  engulfing  wave  of  her 
own  emotion  bravely. 

"Jim,"  she  said  bravely,  "does  it  mean  nothing  to 
you  that  there  were  other  women  in  your  life  before 
you  knew  me  ? " 

"  Dearest,"  he  answered  seriously  and  quickly,  "God 
knows  that  I  would  cut  my  hand  off  to  be  able  to  blot 
that  all  out  of  my  boyhood.  Those  things  mean  noth 
ing  to  a  man,  Ju,  and  they  meant  less  to  me  than  to 
most  men.  Women  can't  understand  that,  but  if  you 
knew  how  men  regard  it,  you  would  realize  that  very 
few  can  bring  their  wives  as  clean  a  record  as  mine!" 

He  had  said  this  much  before,  never  anything  more. 
Julia,  looking  at  him  now  with  all  the  tragic  sorrow  of 
her  life  in  her  magnificent  eyes,  felt  the  utter  impossi 
bility  of  convincing  him  that  this  accusation  on  her 
part,  and  bravely  boyish  and  honest  confession  on  his, 
had  any  logical  or  possible  connection  with  the  mo- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  301 

mentous  conversation  that  they  were  having  to-night. 
Her  heart  recoiled  in  sick  terror  from  any  word  that 
would  hurt  or  estrange  him  now,  but  she  might  have 
found  that  word,  and  might  have  said  it,  could  she 
have  hoped  that  it  would  convey  her  meaning  to  him. 
But  Jim's  standard  of  morals,  for  himself,  was,  like  that 
of  most  men,  still  the  college  standard.  It  was  too  bad 
to  have  clouded  the  bright  mirror,  but  it  was  inevitable, 
given  youth  and  red  blood.  And  it  was  admirable  to 
regret  it  all  now.  Any  fresh  attempt  on  Julia's  part  to 
bring  to  his  realization  the  parallel  in  their  situations, 
would  have  elicited  from  him  only  fresh,  youthful  ac 
knowledgments,  until  that  second  when  anger  and 
astonishment  at  her  bold  effort  to  reduce  the  two  dis 
tinct  codes  to  one  would  end  this  talk — like  so  many 
others! — with  new  coldnesses  and  silences.  Julia  aban 
doned  this  line  of  argument  once  and  for  all. 

"I  never  cared  for  any  one  but  you  in  my  life,  Jim," 
she  said,  with  dry  lips. 

"I  know,"  he  muttered,  brushing  his  hair  back  with 
an  impatient  hand.  A  second  later  he  came  to  kneel 
penitently  before  her.  "I'm  sorry,  sweetheart,"  he 
said  pleadingly.  "You're  a  little  angel  of  forgiveness 
to  me — I  don't  deserve  it!  I  know  how  I  make  you 
suffer!" 

"Jim,"  she  said,  feeling  old,  and  tired,  and  cold  to 
her  heart's  core,  "do  you  think  you  do?" 

"I  know  how  /  suffer!"  he  answered  bitterly. 

"Jim,  suppose  it  was  something  you  had  done  long 
ago  that  /  couldn't  forgive?" 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  forgiveness,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "Forgiveness — when  you  are  the  sweetest 
and  best  wife  a  man  ever  had !  No,  darling,"  he  caught 
both  her  hands  in  his  own,  "you  must  never  think  that, 
it's  never  that!  It's  only  my  mad,  crazy  jealousy.  I 
tell  you  I'm  ashamed  of  it,  and  I  am!  Just  be  patient 
with  me,  Julia!" 

Julia  stared  at  him  a  few  moments  silently,  her  hands 
locked  about  his  neck. 


302  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Ah,  but  you  worry  me  so  when  you're  like  this, 
Jim,"  she  said  presently,  in  the  gentle,  troubled  tone  a 
mother  might  use.  "There  seems  to  be  nothing  I  can 
do.  I  can  only  worry  and  wait!" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  said  hastily.  "Don't  remind 
me  of  it!  My  father  was  like  that,  you  know.  My 
father  shot  at  a  man  once  because  he  was  rude  to  my 
mother  when  he  was  drunk — shot  him  right  through  the 
shoulder!  It  raised  the  very  deuce  of  a  scandal  down 
there  in  Honolulu!  He  took  Mother  to  Europe  to  get 
away  from  the  fuss,  and  paid  the  man  the  Lord  knows 
what  to  quiet  the  thing!" 

"Yes,  but  life  isn't  like  that,  Jim,"  Julia  protested. 
"Life  isn't  so  simple!  Shooting  at  somebody,  and 
buying  his  silence,  and  rushing  off  to  Europe!  Why 
can't  you  just  say  to  yourself  reasonably " 

"Reasonably,'  dearest!"  he  echoed  cheerfully,  with 
a  kiss.  "When  was  a  jealous  man  ever  reasonable!" 

"But  think  how  wonderfully  happy  we  are,  Jim," 
she  persisted  wistfully.  "Suppose  there  is  one  part 
trouble,  one  part  of  your  life  that  you  don't  like,  why 
can't  you  be  happy  because  ninety-nine  parts  of  it  are 
perfect?" 

"I  don't  know;  talking  with  you  here,  I  can't  under 
stand  it,"  he  said.  "But  I  get  thinking — I  get  think 
ing,  and  my  heart  begins  to  hammer,  and  I  lie  awake 
nights,  and  I'd  like  to  get  up  and  strangle  some  one " 

His  vehemence  died  into  abashed  silence  before  her 
grave  eyes. 

"I  ought  to  be  the  one  to  stamp  and  rave  over  this," 
Julia  said.  "I  ought  to  remind  you  that  you  knew  my 
history  when  you  married  me;  and  you  know  life,  too — 
you  were  ten  years  older  than  I,  and  how  much  more 
experienced !  All  I  knew  was  learned  at  the  settlement 
house,  or  from  books.  And  the  reason  I  dont  rave  and 
stamp,  Jim,"  she  went  on,  "is  because  I  am  different 
from  you.  I  realize  that  that  doesn't  help  matters. 
We  must  make  the  best  of  it  now,  we  must  help  each 
other!  You  see  I  have  no  pride  about  it.  I  know  I  am 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  303 

better  than  many — than  most — of  these  society  women 
all  about  us,  but  I  don't  force  you  to  admit  that.  They 
break  every  other  commandment  of  God,  yes,  and  that 
one,  too,  and  they  commit  every  one  of  the  deadly  sins! 
It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  l  gluttony,  envy,  and 
sloth'  were  the  very  foundation  on  which  the  lives  of 
some  of  these  people  rest,  and  as  for  pride  and  anger  and 
lust,  why,  we  take  them  for  granted!  Yet,  whoever 
thinks  seriously  of  saying  so?" 

"You  make  me  ashamed,  Julie,"  Jim  said,  after  a 
pause,  during  which  his  eyes  had  not  moved  from  her 
face.  "I  can  only  say  I'm  sorry.  I'm  very  sorry! 
Sometimes  I  think  you're  a  good  deal  bigger  man  than 
I  am;  but  I  can't  help  it.  However,  I'm  going  to  try. 
From  to-night  on  I'm  going  to  try." 

"We'll  both  try,"  Julia  said,  and  they  kissed  each 
other. 


CHAPTER  V 

Miss  TOLAND,  who  had  accepted  Julia's  invitation 
for  Thanksgiving,  arrived  unexpectedly  on  the  after 
noon  before  the  holiday,  to  spend  the  night  with  the 
Studdifordso  It  was  a  wild,  wet  day,  settling  down  to 
heavy  rain  as  the  early  darkness  closed  in,  and  the 
Pacific  Avenue  house  presented  a  gloomy  if  magnificent 
aspect  to  the  guest  as  she  came  in.  But  Ellie  beamingly 
directed  her  to  the  nursery,  and  here  she  found  enough 
brightness  to  flood  the  house. 

Caroline,  it  appeared,  had  gone  to  her  own  family 
for  the  afternoon,  and  Julia,  looking  like  a  child  in  her 
short  white  dress  and  buckled  slippers,  was  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  with  little  Anna  in  her  arms.  The  room  was 
bright  with  firelight  and  the  soft  light  from  the  sub 
dued  nursery  lamps,  and  warm  russet  curtains  shut  out 
the  dull  and  dying  afternoon.  Dolls  and  blocks  were 
scattered  on  the  hearth  rug,  and  Julia  sat  her  daughter 
down  among  them,  and  jumped  up  with  a  radiant  face 
to  greet  the  newcomer. 

"Aunt  Sanna — you  darling!  And  you're  going  to 
spend  the  night?"  Julia  cried  out  joyfully,  with  her 
first  kisses.  "What  a  dear  thing  for  you  to  do!  But 
you're  wet?" 

"No,  I  dropped  everything  in  my  room,"  Miss  To- 
land  said.  "Things  were  very  quiet  at  The  Alexander 
— that  new  woman  isn't  going  to  do  at  all,  by  the 
way,  too  fussy — so  I  suddenly  thought  of  coming  into 
town ! " 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you  did!"  Julia  exulted.  Miss 
Toland  rested  firm  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  looked 
at  her  keenly. 

"How  goes  it?" 

304 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  305 

"Oh,  splendidly ! "  The  younger  woman's  bright  eyes 
shone. 

"No  more  blues,  eh?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"Ah,  well,  that's  a  good  thing!"  Miss  Toland  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  and  stretched  sturdy  shoes  to  the 
blaze.  "Hello,  Beautiful!"  she  said  to  the  baby. 

Julia  dropped  to  the  rug,  and  smothered  the  soft 
whiteness  and  fragrance  of  little  Anna  in  a  wild  hug. 

"She  has  her  good  days  and  her  bad  days,"  said 
Julia,  biting  ecstatic  little  kisses  from  the  top  of  the 
downy  little  head,  "and  to-day  she  has  simply  been  an 
angel!  Wait — see  if  she'll  do  it!  See,  Bunny,"  Julia 
caught  up  a  white  woolly  doll.  "Oh,  see  poor  dolly — 
Mother's  going  to  put  her  in  the  fire!" 

"Da!"  said  Anna  agitatedly,  and  Julia  tumbled  her 
in  another  mad  embrace. 

"Isn't  that  darling,  not  six  months  old  yet?"  de 
manded  the  mother.  "Here,  take  her,  Aunt  Sanna, 
and  see  if  you  ever  got  hold  of  anything  nicer  than  that! 
Come,  baby,  give  Aunt  Sanna  a  little  butterfly  kiss!" 
And  Julia  swept  the  soft  little  face  and  unresponsive 
mouth  across  the  older  woman's  face  before  she  de 
posited  the  baby  in  her  lap. 

"She's  like  you,  Julie,"  Miss  Toland  said,  extend 
ing  a  ringed  finger  for  her  namesake's  amusement. 

"  Yes,  I  think  she  is;  every  one  says  so.  You  see  her 
hair's  coming  to  be  the  same  ashy  yaller  as  mine.  And 
see  the  fat  sweet  little  knees,  and  don't  miss  our  new 
slippers  with  wosettes  on  'em!" 

"She's  really  exquisite,"  Miss  Toland  said,  kissing 
the  tawny  little  crown  as  Julia  had  done,  and  watching 
the  deep-lashed  blue  eyes  that  were  so  much  absorbed 
by  the  rings.  "Watching  her,  Ju,  we'll  see  just  what 
sort  of  a  little  girl  you  were." 

"Oh,  heavens,  Aunt  Sanna,"  Julia  protested,  with  a 
rather  sad  little  smile,  "I  was  an  awful  little  person  with 
stringy  hair,  and  colds  in  my  nose,  and  no  hankies!  I 
never  had  baths,  and  never  had  regular  meal  hours,  or 


306  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

regular  diet,  for  that  matter!  Anna'll  be  very  different 
from  what  I  was." 

"Your  mother  was  to  blame,  Ju,"  Miss  Toland  said, 
gravely  shaking  her  head. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  perhaps  her  mother  was,"  Julia 
suggested.  "  Yet  my  Grandmother  Cox  is  a  sweet  little 
old  woman,"  she  went  on,  smiling,  "always  afraid  we're 
hungry,  and  anxious  to  feed  us,  tremendously  loyal  to  us 
all.  I  went  out  there  to-day,  to  take  Mama  some 
special  little  things  for  Thanksgiving,  and  see  if  their 
turkey  had  gotten  there,  and  so  on,  and  my  heart  quite 
ached  for  Grandma — Mama's  very  exacting  now,  and 
the  girls — my  aunt,  Mrs.  Torney's  girls — seemed  so 
apathetic  and  dull.  The  house  was  very  dirty,  as  it 
always  is,  and  the  halls  icy,  and  the  kitchen  hot — I  just 
wanted  to  pitch  in  and  clean!  Mama  was  cross  at  me 
for  not  bringing  Anna,  in  this  rain,  and  staying  to  dinner 
to-morrow;  but  Grandmother  was  so  pleased  to  have  the 
things,  and  she  got  to  telling  me  of  old  times,  poor  thing, 
and  how  she  had  to  work  and  scheme  to  get  up  a 
Thanksgiving  dinner,  and  how  my  grandfather  would 
worry  her  by  promising  that  he'd  only  have  one  drink, 
and  then  disappearing  for  hours " 

"Does  it  ever  occpr  to  you  that  you  are  an  unusual 
woman,  Julia?"  Miss  Toland  asked,  holding  her  watch 
to  the  baby's  ear.  Julia  flushed  and  laughed. 

"Well,  no,  I  don't  believe  it  ever  did!" 

"Not  so  much  in  climbing  up  in  the  world  as  you 
have,"  pursued  the  older  woman,  "but  in  not  despising 
the  people  you  left  behind  you!  That's  very  fine,  Julie. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  fine  it  seems  to  me!" 

"There's  nothing  fine  about  it,"  Julia  said  simply. 
"It's  just  that  I  like  that  sort  of  people  as  well  as  I  do — 
Jim's  sort.  I  used  to  think  that  to  work  my  way  into  a 
world  where  everything  was  fine  and  fragrant  and  costly 
would  mean  to  be  happy,  but  of  course  it  doesn't,  and 
I've  come  more  and  more  to  feel  that  I  like  the  class 
where  joys  are  real,  and  sorrows  are  real,  and  the  goodness 
means  more,  and  there's  more  excuse  for  the  badness!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  307 

"Did  you  ever  think  of  writing,  Julia?"  Miss  Toland 
asked.  "Stories,  I  mean?" 

"Everybody  does  nowadays,  I  suppose,"  Julia 
laughed.  "Sometimes  I  think  what  good  material  The 
Alexander  stuff  would  be,  Aunt  Sanna.  But  the  truth 
is,  Jim  doesn't  like  the  idea." 

"  Doesn't  ?     Bless  us  all,  why  not  ? " 

"Oh!"  Julia  dimpled  demurely.  "The  great  Mrs. 
Studdiford  writing,  like  a  mere  ordinary  person?"  she 
asked. 

"Oh,  that's  it  ?     Where  is  Jim,  by  the  way  ? " 

"Sacramento.  But  the  operation  was  on  Sunday,  so 
he  should  have  been  here  yesterday,  at  latest,"  Julia 
said.  "  However,  he'll  rush  in  to-night  or  to-morrow;  he 
knows  you're  all  going  to  be  here.  Give  her  to  me, 
Aunt  Sanna,  she's  getting  hungry,  bless  her  little  old  heart ! 
Ah,  here's  Ellie  with  something  for  Mother's  girl!" 

"And  tea  for  you  in  the  library,"  Ellie  said  in  an  aside, 
receiving  the  baby  into  her  arms  with  a  rapturous  look. 

"Tea,  doesn't  tea  sound  good!"  Julia  caught  Miss 
Toland  by  the  hand.  "Come  and  have  some  tea,  Aunt 
Sanna!"  said  she.  "I'm  starving!" 

They  were  loitering  over  their  teacups  half  an  hour 
later  when  Lizzie  came  into  the  librajry  with  a  special  de 
livery  letter. 

"For  me?"  Julia  smiled,  reaching  for  it.  "It's 
Jimmy!"  she  added  ruefully,  for  Miss  Toland's  benefit, 
as  she  took  it.  "This  means  he  can't  get  here!" 

"Drat  the  lad!"  his  aunt  said  mildly.  "What  has  he 
got  to  say?" 

Julia  pulled  out  a  hairpin  to  open  the  letter,  her  face  a 
little  puzzled.  She  unfolded  three  pages  of  large  paper 
closely  written. 

"Why,  I  don't  understand  this,"  said  she.  "Jimmy 
writes  such  short  letters!" 

And  immediately  fear,  like  cold  iron,  entered  her 
heart,  and  she  felt  a  chill  of  distaste  for  the  letter;  she  did 
not  want  to  read  it,  she  wished  she  might  fling  it  on  the 
fire,  and  rid  her  hands  of  the  horrible  thing. 


308  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"It  is  Jim,  isn't  it?"  Miss  Toland  said,  with  a  sharp 
look.  "Is  he  coming?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Julia  said,  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

"Anything  wrong?"  Miss  Toland  asked,  instantly 
alert. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  so!"  Julia  said,  trying  to  laugh. 
"But — but  I  hate  him  to  just  send  a  letter  when  I  ex 
pected  him!"  she  added  childishly. 

She  picked  it  up,  and  began  slowly  to  read  it.  Miss 
Toland,  watching  her,  saw  the  muscles  of  her  face 
harden,  and  her  eyes  turn  to  steel.  The  blood  rushed  to 
her  face,  and  then  receded  quickly.  She  read  to  the  last 
word,  and  then  looked  up  to  meet  the  other  woman's 
eyes. 

"What  is  it?"  Miss  Toland  demanded,  aghast  at 
Julia's  look. 

"It's  Jim,"  said  Julia.  Her  face  was  blazing  again, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  choking.  "He's  going  to  Europe," 
she  went  on,  in  a  bewildered  tone,  "he's  not  coming 
back." 

"What!"  said  Miss  Toland  sharply.  "D'you  mean 
to  tell  me  he's  simply  walked  off " 

Julia's  colour  was  ghastly;  her  eyes  looked  sick  and 
heavy. 

"No,  no,  he  can't  mean  that!"  she  said  quickly.  Sh? 
crushed  the  pages  of  the  letter  together  convulsively,, 

"I  can't "  she  began,  and  stopped.  Suddenly  sh& 

rose  to  her  feet,  muttered  something  about  coming  back, 
and  was  gone. 

She  ran  up  to  her  room,  and  alone  there,  it  seemed  for 
a  few  moments  as  if  she  must  suffocate.  She  put  the  let 
ter  on  her  desk,  where  its  folded  sheets  instantly  looked 
hideously  familiar.  She  went  into  the  bathroom,  and 
found  herself  holding  her  fingers  under  the  hot-water  tap, 
vaguely  waiting  for  hot  water.  Like  a  hunted  creature 
she  went  through  the  luxurious  rooms,  the  mortal  wound 
in  her  heart  widening  every  instant;  finally  she  came 
back  to  her  desk,  and  sat  down,  and  read  the  letter 
again. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  309 


"Dear  Julia,"  wrote  Jim,  "I  have  been  thinking  and 
thinking  about  this  affair,  and  I  cannot  stand  it.  I  am 
going  away.  Atkins  is  going  to  Berlin  for  a  three  months* 
course  under  Hofner  and  Braun,  and  I  am  going 
with  him.  I  only  made  up  my  mind  to-night,  but  I  have 
thought  of  something  like  this  a  long,  longtime.  I  cannot 
bear  it  any  longer.  I  think  and  think  about  things — that 
another  man  loved  you  and  you  loved  him — and  I  nearly 
go  mad.  Even  when  people  meet  me  and  ask  how  you  are, 
I  am  reminded  of  it;  for  weeks  now  I  haven't  thought 
of  anything  else;  it  just  seems  to  rise  up  wherever  I  go. 

"I  think  it  will  be  better  when  I  don't  see  you. 

"I  have  been  sitting  here  with  my  head  in  my  hands, 
wondering  if  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  spare  you 
the  pain  of  reading  this  letter,  but  it's  no  use,  it's  im 
possible  to  go  back  and  bluff  about  it. 

"Collins  spoke  to  me  about  the  change  in  me;  he  said 
he  thought  it  was  that  touch  of  the  sun  in  September.  I 
wish  to  God  it  was ! 

"I  will  take  the  course  with  Atkins,  and  then  let  you 
know.  He  wants  to  go  to  Benares  for  some  reason  or 
another,  and  perhaps  I  will  go  with  him,  or  perhaps  come 
home  to  you.  But  I  don't  think  I  will  come  back  under 
a  year. 

"  You  hear  of  men  all  your  life  who  do  this,  but  I  feel 
as  if  it  was  killing  me,  and  you,  too.  I  wish  there  was 
some  other  way. 

"I  have  written  Harry  at  the  Crocker;  my  account 
there  is  to  be  transferred  to  your  name.  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  it  is,  but  the  money  from  the  San  Mateo 
lots  went  in  there,  and  so  there  is  plenty.  For  God's 
sake  spend  it,  don't  hesitate  about  getting  anything  you 
want.  Why  shouldn't  you  keep  the  house,  until  April 
anyway;  some  one  would  stay  with  you,  and  then  you 
could  go  to  San  Rafael. 

"I'm  not  going  to  try  to  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  all 
this,  because  you  know.  It  all  seems  to  me  a  bad  dream. 
Every  little  while  I  try  to  make  myself  think  that  after  a 
while  it  will  all  come  right,  but  it  seemed  to  me  all  dead 


310  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  buried  after  that  time  on  the  steamer,  and  of  course 
it  wasn't! 

"Tell  people  what  you  please,  I  leave  all  that  to  you. 

"Chadwick  will  sell  the  car,  and  send  you  the  bill  of 
sale  and  the  money.  He  knows  what  I  want  sent;  he'll 
do  all  that. 

"I've  written  and  rewritten  this  ten  times;  my  head  is 
splitting.  It  seems  strange  to  think  it  is  you  and  me. 

"God  bless  you  always,  and  our  little  girl. 

"JlM." 

Julia  finished  it  with  a  little  grinding  sound,  like  a 
groan,  heard  herself  make  a  dramatic  exclamation,  an 
"Ah!"  of  agonized  unbelief.  She  sat  down,  got  up 
again  to  take  a  few  irresolute  steps  toward  her  desk,  and 
finally  went  to  her  bedside  telephone,  and  took  down  the 
receiver. 

There  was  a  delay;  Julia  rapped  an  impatient  slipper 
on  the  floor,  and  rattled  the  hook. 

"Western  Union,  please,"  she  said,  a  moment  later; 
"I  want  to  send  a  telegram." 

An  interval  of  silence  followed.  Julia  sat  staring 
blankly  at  the  wall.  Then  she  rattled  the  hook  again. 

"No  matter  about  that  number,  Central;  I've  changed 
my  mind,"  she  said.  She  walked  irresolutely  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  stood  there  a  moment  frowning,  and 
then  turned,  to  go  back  and  fling  herself  on  her  bed> 
staring  up  into  the  dark,  the  letter  crackling  as  it  drop-^ 
ped  beside  her. 

After  a  while  she  began  to  say,  "Oh,  oh,  oh!"  quietly 
and  quickly  under  her  breath.  The  cry  grew  too  much  for 
her,  she  twisted  on  her  face  to  stifle  it,  and  after  a  few 
moments  it  stopped.  Then  she  turned  on  her  back 
again,  and  said  something  sharply  to  herself  in  a  whisper 
once  or  twice,  and  after  that  the  moaning  "Oh,  oh,  oh!" 
began  again. 

So  Miss  Toland  found  her,  when  she  came  into  the 
room  without  knocking,  a  little  later. 

"Julia,"  Miss  Toland  said  sharply,  sitting  down  on 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  311 

the  edge  of  the  bed  and  possessing  herself  of  one  of  Julia's 
limp,  cold  hands,  "Ellie  told  me  you — she  came  to  the 
door  and  heard  you!  My  child,  this  won't  do!  You 
mustn't  make  mountains  out  of  molehills.  If  Jim 
Studdiford  has  had  the  senseless  cruelty  to  go  off  to 
Europe  in  this  fashion, why,  he  oughttobehorsewhipped, 
that's  all !  But  I  don't  believe  he'll  get  any  farther  than 
New  York,  myself;  I  don't  believe  he'll  get  that  far!" 
She  paused,  but  Julia  was  silent.  After  a  moment  the 
older  woman  spoke  again.  "What  does  he  say  in  the 
letter?"  she  asked.  "One  would  really  like  to  know 
just  how  this  delightful  piece  of  work  is  explained." 

"Aunt  Sanna!"  Julia  said,  in  a  difficult  half  whisper. 
She  took  Miss  Toland's  hand  and  pressed  it  against 
her  heart.  Her  lips  were  shut  tight,  and  against  the 
white  pillow  there  was  a  little  negative  movement  of 
her  head. 

"Well,  of  course  you  don't  want  to  talk  about  it," 
Miss  Toland  said  soothingly.  "But  was  there  a 
quarrel  ? " 

"Oh,  no — no!"  Julia  said  quickly,  briefly,  with  an 
other  convulsive  pressure  of  Miss  Toland's  hand,  and 
another  jerk  of  her  head.  "It  was  something — that 
distressed  Jim — something  I  couldn't  change,"  she  added 
with  difficulty. 

"H'm!"said  the  other,  and  the  evidence  for  both  sides 
was  in,  as  far  as  Miss  Toland  was  concerned,  and  the 
case  closed.  She  sat  beside  Julia  in  the  dark  for  a  long 
time,  patting  her  hand  without  speaking.  After  a  while 
Ellie  brought  a  glass  of  hot  milk,  and  Julia  docilely 
drank  it,  and  submitted  to  being  put  to  bed,  raising  a 
face  as  sweet  as  a  child's  for  Miss  Toland's  good-night 
kiss,  and  promising  to  sleep  well. 

The  pleasant  winter  sunlight  was  streaming  into  the 
older  woman's  room  when  Julia  came  in  the  next  morn 
ing,  although  all  San  Francisco  echoed  to  the  sombre 
constant  call  of  the  foghorn,  and  the  air  was  cool  enough 
to  make  Miss  Toland's  fire  delightful.  Julia  had  Anna 
with  her,  a  delightful  little  armful  in  her  tumbled  night- 


312  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

wear,  and  she  smiled  at  the  picture  of  Miss  Toland, 
comfortably  enjoying  her  breakfast  in  bed.  But  it  was 
evident  that  she  had  not  slept:  deep  shadows  lay  under 
her  blue  eyes,  and  she  was  very  pale.  She  put  the  baby 
down  on  the  bed  with  a  silver  buttonhook  and  a 
bracelet,  and  sat  down. 

"Sleep  any?"  Miss  Toland  asked. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  did!"  Julia  said,  with  an  effort  at 
brightness.  She  seemed  nervous  and  restless,  but 
showed  no  tendency  to  break  down.  "I've  just  been 
talking  to  Caroline,"  she  went  on.  "I  told  her  that 
Doctor  Studdiford  had  been  called  away,  and  implied 
that  there  would  be  changes.  Then  I  spoke  to  Foo 
Ting  at  breakfast — Mrs.  Pope  is  crazy  to  get  him — so 
that  will  be  all  right " 

"Julia — of  course  I've  not  read  Jim's  letter,"  Miss 
Toland  said  earnestly,  "but  aren't  you  taking  this  too 
much  to  heart — aren't  you  acting  rather  quickly?" 

Julia  looked  down  at  her  laced  ringers  for  a  few  mo 
ments  without  speaking. 

"Jim  isn't  coming  back,"  she  said  soberly. 

"But  what  makes  you  say  so,  dear?  How  do  you 
know?" 

"Well,  I  just  know  it,"  Julia  said,  raising  heavy- 
lidded  eyes.  They  looked  at  each  other. 

"But  you  aren't  telling  me  seriously,  my  child,  that 

Jou  two — the  most  devoted  couple  I  ever  saw — why, 
ulia,  show  a  little  courage,  child !  Jim  must  be  brought 
to  his  senses,  that's  all.  We  must  think  what's  wisest 
to  do,  and  do  it.  But,  my  dear,  there'd  be  no  mar 
riages  left  in  the  world  if  people  flew  off  the  handle " 

"I  have  been  thinking,  all  night,"  Julia  said  pa 
tiently,  "and  this  is  what  I  thought.  I  want" — she 
glanced  restlessly  about  the  room — "I  want  to  get 
away  from  here!  That'll  take  some  little  while." 

"Go  away  by  all  means,  dear,  if  you  want  to,  but 
don't  dismantle  your  house — don't  make  it  impossible 
for  the  whole  thing  to  blow  over " 

"He  won't  come  back,"  Julia  repeated  quietly. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  313 

"You  don't  think  so?"  Miss  Toland  said  uncom 
fortably.  "H'm!" 

"No  one  must  know,  not  even  Doctor  and  Mother," 
pursued  Julia.  "No  newspapers,  nobody  /" 

"Well,  in  any  case,  that's  wise!"  the  older  woman 
assented.  "And  where  will  you  go — to  Sally?" 

"No!"  Julia  said  with  a  quick  shudder.  "Not  any 
where  near  here!  No,  I  should  rather  like  to  give  the 
impression  that  I  will  be  with  Jim,  or  near  Jim,"  she 
added  slowly. 

"Following  him  abroad  with  the  baby,  that's  quite 
natural!"  Miss  Toland  approved.  "But  why  not  stay 
a  week  or  two  in  Sausalito,  just  to  keep  them  from 
guessing?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  Julia  said,  in  a  quick  breath. 

"And  where'll  you  go— New  York?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Julia  leaned  back  and  shut  her  eyes.  The 
muscles  of  her  throat  worked.  "We  were  so  happy  in 
New  York,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  quivering  of  her 
lips.  But  a  moment's  struggle  brought  back  her  com 
posure.  "I  thought — some  little  French  village,  or 
England,"  she  hazarded. 

"  England,"  Miss  Toland  said  promptly.  "This  is  no 
time  of  the  year  to  take  a  child  to  France;  besides,  you  get 
better  milk  in  England,  and  if  Anna  was  sick,  there's 
London,  full  of  doctors  who  speak  your  own  language." 

"So  long  as  it's  quiet,"  Julia  said,  "and  we  see  no 
body — that's  all  I  care  about.     Then  if  Jim  should — 
But  I  couldn't  wait  here,  with  everybody  asking,  and 
inviting  me  places,  and  spying  on  me!" 

"We'll  take  some  sort  of  little  place  in  Oxfordshire," 
Miss  Toland  said,  "and  then  we  can  run  up  to  Lon- 
don- 

"'We?'"  Julia  echoed.  She  gazed  bewilderedly  at 
the  other  woman  for  a  moment,  then  put  her  hands  over 
her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 

A  month  like  a  nightmare  followed.  Julia  had 
never  grown  to  care  for  the  Pacific  Avenue  house;  now  it 


314  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

came  to  have  an  absolute  horror  for  her.  She  seemed 
to  see  it  through  a  veil  of  darkness;  she  seemed  to  move 
under  the  burden  of  an  intolerable  weight.  Sometimes 
she  found  herself  panting  as  if  for  air,  as  she  went  from 
silent  room  to  silent  room,  and  sometimes  a  memory  un 
bearably  poignant  and  dear  smote  her  as  with  physical 
violence,  and  her  face  worked  for  a  few  moments,  and 
she  fought  with  tears. 

There  were  other  times,  when  life  seemed  less  sad 
than  dull.  Julia  grew  sick  of  loneliness,  sick  of  silence; 
she  stared  at  her  face  in  the  mirror,  when  she  was  slowly 
dressing  in  the  morning;  stared  at  herself  again  at  night 
— as  if  marvelling  at  this  woman  who  was  a  wife,  and  a 
mother,  and  deserted  in  her  young  bloom.  Deserted — 
her  husband  had  gone  away  from  her,  and  she  knew  no 
way  to  bring  him  back.  A  weary  flatness  of  spirit 
descended  upon  her;  it  seemed  a  part  of  the  howling 
winter  storms,  the  dark  and  heavy  weather. 

For  the  servants  other  positions  were  quickly  found, 
the  furniture  was  stored,  the  motor  car  sold.  On  the 
last  day  on  which  the  last  was  at  her  disposal,  Julia, 
with  Ellie  and  the  baby,  drove  about  downtown,  and 
disposed  of  several  odds  and  ends  of  business.  She  left 
the  keys  of  the  Pacific  Avenue  house  at  the  agent's 
office,  not  without  an  agonized  memory  of  the  day  she 
had  first  called  for  them,  more  than  two  years  ago.  She 
went  to  the  bank,  and  was  instantly  invited  into  the 
manager's  office  and  given  a  luxurious  chair. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Studdifprd,"  said  Mr.  Perry  pleasantly, 
"what  brings  you  out  in  this  dreadful  weather?" 

"Good-byes,"  Julia  said,  flinging  back  her  veil,  and 
laying  her  muff  aside.  "Miss  Toland  and  I  will  prob 
ably  leave  for  New  York  on  the  seventh,  and  sail  as 
soon  as  we  can  after  we  get  there.  I  want  to  take  a 
letter  of  credit,  and  I  want  to  know  just  how  I  stand 
here." 

Mr.  Perry  touched  a  button,  the  letter  of  credit  was 
duly  made  out,  a  clerk  came  in  with  a  little  slip,  which 
he  handed  to  Mr.  Perry. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  315 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,  indeed!  And  where  is  Doctor  Studdi- 
fordnow?  In  Berlin?  Lovely  city.  You'll  like  Berlin," 
said  Mr.  Perry.  He  glanced  at  the  slip.  "Thirty-seven 
thousand,  two  hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  Mrs.  Stud- 
diford,"  said  he.  "Transferred  to  your  name  a  month 
ago." 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  much!"  Julia  said,  her  heart 
turning  to  lead.  Why  had  he  given  her  so  much? 

Mr.  Perry,  bowing  her  out,  laughed  that  that  was  a 
fault  on  the  right  side,  and  Julia  left  the  bank,  with  its 
brightly  lighted  warm  atmosphere  tinged  with  the 
odour  of  ink  and  polished  wood  and  rubber  flooring,  and 
its  windows  streaming  with  rain.  She  got  into  the 
motor  car  again,  and  took  little  Anna  on  her  lap. 

"Now  I  think  we'll  drop  you  at  the  hotel,  Ellie,"  said 
she,  "and  I'll  take  the  baby  out  to  say  good-bye  to  my 
mother." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Studdiford,  it's  raining  something  ter 
rible!"  protested  the  maid. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Julia  agreed,  looking  a  little  vaguely 
out  of  the  blurred  window.  "  But  you  see  to-morrow 
may  be  just  as  bad,  and  we've  got  her  all  dressed  and 
out  now.  So  you  go  home  and  pack,  and  I'll  just  fly 
out  there  and  fly  back.  Day  after  to-morrow  I've 
promised  to  take  her  to  Sausalito,  and  the  day  after 
that  we  start!" 

The  city  streets  looked  dark  and  gloomy  under  the 
steady  onslaught  of  the  rain,  as  the  car  rolled  along. 
Julia  stared  sombrely  through  the  drenched  glass,  now 
and  then  kissing  the  perfumed  top  of  the  little  silk  cap 
that  covered  the  drowsy  head  on  her  breast.  It  was  a 
long  trip  to  Shotwell  Street;  for  all  her  family's  pecu 
liarities,  it  was  rather  a  sad  trip  to-day.  She  let  her 
thoughts  drift  on  to  the  coming  changes  in  her  life. 
She  thought  of  New  York,  of  the  great  unknown  ocean, 
of  London — London  to  Julia  meant  fog,  hansom  cabs, 
and  crossings  that  must  be  swept.  It  was  not,  she 
felt,  with  a  certain  baffled  resentment,  what  she  wanted 


316  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

to  do.  London  was  full  of  Miss  Toland's  friends,  and 
Julia  was  too  sick  in  spirit  to  wish  to  meet  them  now. 
To  be  alone — to  be  alone — to  be  alone — some  gasping 
inner  spirit  prayed  continually.  They  would  go  to 
Oxfordshire,  of  course.  But  Miss  Toland  would  be 
miserable  in  the  country,  she  was  always  miserable  in 
the  country. 

They  were  passing  Eighteenth  Street,  passing  St. 
Charles's  shabby  little  church.  Julia  stopped  the  motor. 
She  got  out  and  carried  the  baby  up  the  stairs,  and 
went  up  the  echoing  aisle  to  a  front  pew,  where  Anna 
could  sit  and  stare  about  her.  Julia,  panting,  dropped 
on  her  knees.  The  big  edifice  was  empty,  and  smelled 
of  damp  plaster,  rain  rattled  the  high  windows.  The 
afternoon  was  so  dark  that  the  sanctuary  light  sent  a 
little  pool  of  quivering  red  to  the  floor  below. 

After  a  while  a  very  plain  young  woman  came  out  of 
the  vestry,  and  walking  up  the  steps  to  the  main  altar, 
carried  away  one  of  the  great  candlesticks.  She  was 
presently  joined  by  a  little  nun;  the  two  whispered  un- 
smilingly  together,  came  and  went  fifty  times  with 
flowers,  with  candles,  with  fresh  altar  linen. 

Julia  could  not  pray.  Her  thoughts  would  not  settle 
themselves;  they  drifted  back  and  forth  like  rippling 
breezes  over  grass.  She  felt  that  if  she  might  kneel 
here  an  hour  she  could  begin  to  pray.  Now  a  thousand 
little  things  distracted  her:  the  odour  of  the  church,  the 
crisping  feet  of  some  one  entering  the  church  far  behind 
her,  the  odour  of  the  damp  glove  upon  which  she  rested 
her  cheek. 

Life  troubled  her;  she  was  afraid.  She  had  thought 
it  lay  plain  and  straight  before  her;  now  all  her  guide 
posts  were  gone,  and  all  her  pathways  led  into  deeper 
and  deeper  uncertainty.  The  utter  confusion  into 
which  she  had  been  thrown  made  even  her  own  identity 
indefinite  to  her;  she  suffered  less  for  this  bewilderment. 
If  by  the  mere  raising  of  her  hand  she  might  have 
brought  Jim  back  to  her,  she  would  not  have  raised  that 
hand;  not  now,  not  until  some  rule  that  would  adjust 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  317 

their  relationship  was  found.  Her  marriage  seemed  a 
dream,  their  love  as  strange  and  remote  as  their  sep 
aration. 

Only  Anna  seemed  real,  and  as  much  a  sorrow  as  a 
joy  just  now.  To  what  heritage  would  the  beautiful, 
mysterious  little  personality  unfold?  What  of  the 
swiftly  coming  time  when  she  would  ask  questions? 

Julia  turned  to  the  little  white-capped,  white- 
coated  figure.  Anna  had  chewed  a  bonnet  string  to 
damp  limpness;  now  she  was  saying  "Da!"  in  an  allur 
ing  and  provocative  tone  to  a  lady  praying  nearby.  The 
lady  regarded  her  with  an  unmoved  eye,  however,  and 
Julia  gathered  her  small  daughter  in  her  arms  and  went 
down  to  the  motor  car. 

At  her  mother's  door  she  dismissed  Chadwick  for  an 
hour  or  two  of  warmth  and  shelter,  and,  sighing,  went 
into  the  unaired  dark  hallway  that  smelled  to-day  of 
wet  woollens  and  of  a  smoky  kerosene  wick,  and  re 
tained  as  well  its  old  faint  odour  of  carbolic  acid. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JULIA  found  the  family  as  usual  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  kitchen  as  usual  dirty  and  close.  Her  old  grand 
mother,  a  little  bent  figure  in  a  loose  calico  wrapper, 
was  rocking  in  a  chair  by  the  stove.  Julia's  mother  was 
helpless  in  a  great  wheeled  chair,  with  blankets  and 
pillows  carelessly  disposed  about  her,  and  her  eager 
eyes  bright  in  a  face  chiselled  by  pain.  Sitting  at  the 
table  was  a  heavy,  sad-faced  woman,  with  several  front 
teeth  missing,  in  whom  Julia  recognized  her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Torney.  A  girl  of  thirteen,  with  her  somewhat  colour 
less  hair  in  untidy  braids,  and  a  flannel  bandage  high 
about  her  throat,  came  downstairs  at  the  sound  of 
Julia's  entrance.  This  was  Regina  Torney. 

"Well,  it's  Julia!"  Mrs.  Cox  said.  "And  the  darlin' 
sweetie — you  oughtn't  to  bring  her  out  such  weather, 
Julie!  How's  them  little  hands?" 

She  took  the  baby,  and  Julia  kissed  her  mother  and 
aunt,  expecting  to  draw  from  the  former  the  usual  long 
complaints  when  she  said: 

"  How  are  you,  dear  ?     How  does  the  chair  go  ? " 

But  Mrs.  Page  surprised  her  by  some  new  quality  in 
her  look  and  tone,  something  poignantly  touching  and 
admirable.  She  was  a  thin  little  shadow  of  her  former 
self  now,  the  skin  drawn  tight  and  shining  over  her 
cheek  bones,  her  almost  useless  hands  resting  on  a 
pillow  in  her  lap.  She  wore  a  soiled  dark  wrapper,  her 
dark  hair,  still  without  a  touch  of  gray,  was  in  disorder, 
and  her  blankets  and  pillows  were  not  clean.  She 
smiled  at  her  daughter. 

"I  declare,  Ju,  you  do  seem  to  bring  the  good  fresh 
air  in  with  you  whenever  you  come!  Don't  her  cheeks 
look  pretty,  Regina?  Why,  I'm  just  about  the  same, 

318 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  319 

Ju.     To-day's  a  real  bad  day,  on  account  of  the  rain, 
but  I  had  a  good  night." 

"She's  had  an  awful  week,  Julia.  She  don't  seem  to 
get  no  better,"  Mrs.  Torney  said  heavily.  "I  was  just 
saying  that  it  almost  seems  like  she  isn't  going  to  get 
well;  it  just  seems  like  it  had  got  hold  of  her!" 

Julia  sat  down  next  to  her  mother,  and  laid  her  own 
warm  young  hand  over  the  hand  on  the  pillow. 

"What  does  the  doctor  say?"  she  asked,  looking  from 
one  discouraging  face  to  another. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  Mrs.  Page  said,  sighing,  and  old 
Mrs.  Cox  cackled  out  a  shrill  "Doctors  don't  know 
nothing,  anyway!" 

"Emeline  sent  for  me,"  Mrs.  Torney  said  in  a  sad, 
droning  voice.  "Mamma  just  couldn't  manage  it, 
Julia;  she's  getting  on;  she  can't  do  everything.  So  me 
and  Regina  gave  up  the  Oakland  house,  and  we've  been 
here  three  weeks.  We  didn't  want  to  do  it,  Julia,  but 
you  couldn't  blame  us  if  you'd  read  your  Mamma's 
letter.  Regina's  going  to  work  as  soon  as  she  can,  and 
help  out!" 

Julia  understood  a  certain  deprecatory  and  apologetic 
note  in  her  aunt's  voice  to  refer  to  the  fact  that  the 
Shotwell  Street  house  was  largely  supported  by  Jim's 
generous  monthly  cheque,  and  that  in  establishing  her 
self  and  her  youngest  daughter  there  she  more  or  less 
avowedly  added  one  more  burden  to  Julia's  shoulders. 

"I'm  glad  you  did,  Auntie,"  she  answered  cheerfully. 
"  How's  Muriel  ?  And  where's  Geraldine  ? " 

"Geraldine's  at  school,"  Mrs.  Torney  said  mourn 
fully.  "But  Regina's  not  going  to  start  in  here.  She 
done  awfully  well  in  school,  too,  Julia,  but,  as  I  say,  she 
feels  she  ought  to  get  to  work  now.  She's  got  an 
awful  sore  throat,  too.  Muriel's  started  the  nursing 
course,  but  I  don't  believe  she  can  go  on  with  it,  it's 
something  fierce.  All  my  children  have  weak  stomachs; 
she  says  the  smell  in  the  hospital  makes  her  awfully  sick. 
I  don't  feel  real  well  myself;  every  time  I  stand  up — my 
God !  I  feel  as  if  my  back  was  going  to  split  in  two,  and 


320  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

yet  with  poor  Em  this  way  I  felt  as  if  I  had  ter  come. 
Not  that  I  can  do  anything  for  Emeline,  but  I  was  los 
ing  money  on  my  boarders.  I  wish't  you'd  come  out 
Sunday,  Julia,  I  cooked  a  real  good  dinner,  didn't  I, 
Ma?" 

Mrs.  Coxdidnot  hear,  and  Julia  turned  to  her  mother. 

"Made  up  your  mind  really  to  go,  Ju?"  Mrs.  Page 
asked. 

"Oh,  really!    We  leave  on  the  seventh." 

"I've  always  wanted  to  go  somewheres  on  a  ship," 
Emeline  said.  "Didn't  care  so  much  what  it  was  when 
I  got  there,  but  wanted  to  go!" 

"So  have  I,"  contributed  Mrs.  Torney.  "I  was  real 
like  you  at  your  age,  Julia,  and  I  used  to  think  I'd  do 
this  and  that  when  the  children  was  big.  Well,  some  of 
us  are  lucky  and  some  of  us  aren't — ain't  that  it,  Ma  ?  I 
was  talking  to  a  priest  about  it  once,"  she  pursued, 
"and  he  said,  'Well,  Mrs.  Torney,  if  there  was  no 
sorrow  and  suffering  in  the  world,  there  wouldn't  be  no 
saints!'  'Oh,  Father/  I  says,  'there  isn't  much  of  the 
saint  in  me!  But,'  I  says,  'I've  been  a  faithful  wife  and 
mother,if  I  sayit;  seven  childrenl've  raised  and  two  I've 
buried;  I've  worked  my  hands  to  the  bone,'  I  says,  'and 
the  Lord  has  sent  me  nothing  but  trouble!"3 

"Ma,  ain't  you  going  to  put  your  clothes  on  and  go  to 
the  store?"  Regina  said. 

"I  was  going  to,"  Mrs.  Torney  said,  sighing,  "but  I 
think  maybe  now  I'll  wait,  and  let  Geraldine  go — she'll 
have  her  things  on." 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  got  any  milk?"  Mrs.  Page 
said.  "I  declare  I  get  to  feeling  awfully  gone  about 
this  time!" 

"We  haven't  a  drop,  Em,"  Mrs.  Torney  said,  after 
investigating  a  small  back  porch,  from  which  Julia  got  a 
strong  whiff  of  wet  ashes  and  decaying  cabbage  leaves. 

"How  much  milk  do  you  get  regularly?"  Julia  asked, 
looking  worried. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Torney  said,  from  the  sink, 
where  she  was  attacking  a  greasy  frying  pan  with  cold 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  321 

water  and  a  gray  rag  worn  into  holes,  "you  forget  we 
ain't  rich  people  here.  We  don't  have  him  leave  milk, 
but  if  we  want  it  we  put  a  bottle  out  on  the  back  steps." 

"You  ought  to  have  plenty  of  milk,  Mama,  taking 
those  strong,  depressing  medicines!"  Julia  said. 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  much  appetite,  Julie,"  her  mother 
answered,  with  that  new  and  touching  smile.  "Now, 
last  night  the  girls  had  cabbage  and  corn  beef  cooking — 
I  used  to  be  real  fond  of  that  dinner,  but  it  almost  made 
me  sick,  just  smelling  it!  So  Geraldine  fried  me  an  egg, 
yet  that  didn't  taste  good,  either!  Gettin'  old  and 
fussy,  I  guess!" 

Julia  felt  the  tears  press  suddenly  behind  her  eyes  as 
she  answered  the  patient  smile.  "Mama,  I  think  you 
are  terribly  patient!"  said  she. 

"I  guess  you  can  get  used  to  anything!"  Emeline 
said. 

Regina  coughed,  and  huddled  herself  in  her  chair. 

"  But  I  thought  since  we  had  the  air-tight  stove  put  in 
the  other  room  you  were  going  to  use  it  more?"  said 
Julia,  as  Mrs.  Torney  shook  down  the  cooking  stove 
with  a  violence  that  filled  the  air  with  the  acrid  taste  of 
ashes. 

"Well,  we  do  sometimes.  I  meant  to  clean  it  to-day 
and  get  it  started  again,"  her  aunt  said.  "I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  what  we're  going  to  do  for  dinner,  Ma,"  she 
added.  "Here  it  is  getting  round  to  five,  and  Geraldine 
hasn't  come  in.  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  she  does 
with  herself — weather  like  this!" 

Mrs.  Cox  made  no  response;  she  was  nodding  in  the 
twilight  over  the  little  relaxed  figure  of  the  baby;  a  fat 
little  white-clad  leg  rolled  on  her  knee  as  she  rocked.  A 
moment  later  Geraldine,  a  heavy,  highly  coloured  girl, 
much  what  her  sister  Marguerite  had  been  ten  years 
before,  burst  in,  cold,  wet,  and  tired,  with  a  strapful  of 
wet  books  which  she  flung  on  the  table. 

"My  Lord,  what  do  you  keep  this  place  so  dark  for, 
Ma!"  said  Geraldine.  "It's  something  awful!  Hello, 
Julia!"  She  kissed  her  cousin,  picked  Julia's  big  mufF 


comin 
ft 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

from  a  chair,  and  pressed  the  soft  sables  for  a  moment  to 
her  face.  "Well,  the  little  old  darling,  she's  asleep, 
isn't  she?"  she  murmured  over  the  baby.  "Say, 
Mamma,"  she  went  on  more  briskly,  "I've  got  company 

ing  to-night " 

You!"  said  Julia,  smiling,  and  laying  an  affectionate 
hand  on  her  young  cousin's  shoulder,  as  she  stood  beside 
her.  "Why,  how  old  are  you,  child?" 

"I'm  sixteen — nearly,"  Geraldine  said  stoutly. 
'"Didn't  you  have  beaus  when  you  were  sixteen?" 

"I  suppose  I  did!"  Julia  admitted,  smiling.  "But 
you  seem  awfully  young!" 

"I  thought — maybe  you'd  go  to  the  store  for  me," 
said  Mrs.  Torney.  Geraldine  glared  at  her. 

"Oh,  my  God!  haven't  the  things  come?"  she  de 
manded,  in  shrill  disgust.  "I  can't,  Mamma,  I'm 
sopping  wet,  and  I've  got  to  clean  the  parlour.  It's  all 
over  ashes,  and  mud,  and  the  Lord  knows  what!" 

"Well,  I  couldn't  get  out  to-day,  that's  all  there  is  to 
that,"  Mrs.  Torney  defended  herself  sharply.  "My 
back's  been  like  it  was  on  fire.  I've  jest  been  resting  all 
day.  And  when  you  go  upstairs  you  won't  find  a  thing 
straightened,  so  don't  get  mad  about  that — I  haven't 
been  able  to  do  one  thing!  Regina's  been  real  sick,  too; 
she  may  have  made  the  beds — she  was  upstairs  a 
while- 

"She  didn't!"  supplied  Regina  herself,  speaking  over 
her  shoulder  as  she  lighted  the  gas.  They  all  blinked  in 
the  harsh  sudden  light. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  Geraldine  was  beginning,  when  Julia 
interrupted  soothingly: 

"See  here,  I  have  the  car  here;  Chadwick  was  to 
come  back  at  five.  Let  me  send  him  for  the  things! 
What  do  we  want?" 

"Well,  we  don't  want  to  keep  you,  lovey,"  her  mother 
began.  But  Julia  was  already  writing  a  list. 

"Indeed  I'm  going  to  stay  and  have  some  with  you, 
Mrs.  Page,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Chops  for  the  family 
— aren't  those  quickest?  And  a  quart  of  oysters  for 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  323 

Mama,  and  cake  and  cheese  and  jam  and  eggs — tell  me 
anything  you  think  of,  Aunt  May,  because  he  might  as 
well  do  it  thoroughly! 

"Mama  and  Regina  are  going  to  have  oyster  soup 
and  toast  because  they  are  the  invalids!"  she  announced 
cheerfully,  coming  back  from  the  door  a  little  later. 
"You  like  oysters,  don't  you,  Mama?" 

"Oh,  Julia,  I  like  'em  so  much!"  Mrs.  Page  said,  with 
grateful  fervour. 

"You  can  have  other  things,  too,  you  know,  Madam," 
Julia  assured  her  playfully.  "And  why  don't  you  let 

me  push  you,  so "  She  wheeled  the  chair  across 

the  kitchen  as  she  spoke.  "Over  here,  you  see,  you're  out 
of  the  crowd,"  she  said.  She  presently  put  a  coaxing 
arm  about  Regina.  "Do  go  up  and  brush  your  hair 
and  change,  dear,  you'll  feel  so  much  better,"  she  urged. 

"I  feel  rotten,"  Regina  said,  dragging  herself  stair- 
ward  nevertheless. 

Poor  Mrs.  Page  cried  when  the  moment  for  parting 
came.  It  was  still  early  in  the  evening  when  Julia 
bundled  up  the  sleeping  Anna,  and  sent  her  to  the 
motor  car  by  Chester,  a  gentle  gray-haired  man,  who 
had  been  extremely  appreciative  of  a  good  dinner,  and 
who  had  been  sitting  with  his  wet  socks  in  the  oven,  and 
his  stupid  kindly  eyes  contentedly  fixed  upon  Julia  and 
her  mother. 

"I  may  not  see  you  again,  Julie,"  Mrs.  Page  said 
with  trembling  lips.  "Mama  ain't  strong  like  she 
once  was,  dear.  And  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  I 
shall  do,  when  day  after  day  goes  by  and  you  don't 
come  in — always  so  sweet!"  The  tears  began  to  flow, 
and  she  twisted  her  head,  and  slowly  and  painfully  raised 
her  handkerchief  in  a  crippled  hand  to  dry  her  eyes. 
Julia  knelt  down  to  kiss  her,  her  young  face  very  sober. 

"Listen,  Mama — don't  cry!  Please  don't  cry!"  said 
she.  "Listen!  I'll  promise  you  to  see  you  again  before 
I  eo!" 

[er  mother  brightened   visibly  at  this,   and   Julia 


324  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

kissed  her  again,  and  ran  out  in  the  dripping  rain  to  her 
car.  She  took  the  baby  into  her  arms,  and  settled  back 
in  the  darkness  for  the  long  trip  to  her  hotel.  And  for 
the  first  time  in  many  months  her  thoughts  were  not  of 
her  own  troubles. 

She  thought  of  the  Shotwell  Street  house,  and 
wondered  what  had  attracted  her  grandfather  and 
grandmother  to  it,  forty  years  ago.  She  tried  to  see  her 
mother  there,  a  slender,  dark-haired  child;  tried  to 
imagine  her  aunt  as  young  and  fresh  and  hopeful.  Had 
the  rooms  been  dark  and  dirty  even  then?  Julia 
feared  so;  in  none  of  her  mother's  reminiscences  was 
there  ever  any  tenderness  or  affection  for  early  memories 
of  Shotwell  Street.  Four  young  people  had  gone  out 
from  that  house,  nearly  thirty  years  ago,  how  badly 
equipped  to  meet  life! 

Julia's  own  earliest  recollections  centred  in  it.  She 
remembered  herself  as  an  elaborately  dressed  little 
child,  shaking  out  her  little  flounces  for  her  grand 
mother's  admiration,  and  having  large  hats  tied  over 
her  flushed  sticky  face  and  tumbled  curls.  She  re 
membered  that,  instead  of  the  row  of  cheap  two-story 
flats  that  now  faced  it,  there  had  been  a  vacant  lot 
across  the  street  then,  where  horses  sometimes  galloped. 
She  remembered  the  Chester  of  those  days,  a  pimply, 
constantly  smoking  youth,  who  gave  her  little  pictures 
of  actresses  from  his  cigarette  boxes,  and  other  little 
pictures  that,  being  held  to  a  strong  light,  developed 
additional  figures  and  lettering.  He  called  her  "Miss 
O'Farrell  of  Page  Street"  sometimes,  and  liked  to  poke 
her  plump  little  person  until  she  giggled  herself  almost 
into  hysterics. 

Still  dreaming  of  the  old  times,  she  reached  her  hotel, 
and  while  Ellie  settled  the  baby  into  her  waiting  crib, 
Julia  sat  down  before  a  fire,  her  slippered  feet  to  the 
comfortable  coals,  her  loose  mandarin  robe  deliciously 
warm  and  restful  after  the  tiring  day. 

"You  want  the  lights,  Mrs.  Studdiford?"  asked  Ellie, 
tiptoeing  in  from  the  next  room. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  325 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you!"  Julia  said.  "I'll  just  sit  here 
for  a  while,  and  then  go  to  bed." 

Ellie  went  softly  out;  the  clock  struck  nine — ten — 
eleven.  Against  the  closely  curtained  windows  the 
rain  still  fell  with  a  softened  hiss,  the  coals  broke, 
flamed  up,  died  down  to  a  rosy  glow.  Still  Julia  sat, 
sunk  in  her  deep  chair,  musing. 

She  saw  the  Shotwell  Street  house  changed,  and  made, 
for  the  first  time  in  its  years  of  tenancy,  into  a  home. 
There  must  be  paint  outside,  clean  paint,  there  must  be 
a  garden,  with  a  brick  path  and  rose  bushes,  where  a 
little  girl  might  take  her  first  stumbling  steps,  and 
where  spring  would  make  a  brave  showing  in  green  and 
white  for  the  eyes  of  tired  homegoers. 

Indoors  there  should  be  a  cool  little  orderly  dining- 
room,  with  blue  china  on  its  shelves,  and  a  blue  rug 
under  the  round  table,  and  there  should  be  a  drawing- 
room  papered  in  clean  tans  and  curtained  in  cream 
colour,  with  an  upright  piano  and  comfortable  chairs. 
The  ugly  old  storeroom  off  the  kitchen  must  be  her 
mother's;  it  must  have  new  windows  cut,  and  nothing 
but  what  was  new  and  pretty  must  go  in  there.  And 
the  kitchen  should  have  blue-and-white  linoleum,  with 
curtains  and  shining  tinware;  there  must  be  the  gleam  of 
scrubbed  white  woodwork,  the  shine  of  polished  metal. 
It  was  a  big  kitchen,  the  invalid  might  still  like  to  have 
her  chair  there. 

The  basement's  big,  unused  front  room  must  be  fin 
ished  in  durable  burlaps  and  grass  matting  for  Uncle 
Chester;  there  must  be  a  bath  upstairs;  two  rooms  for 
Aunt  May  and  the  girls,  one  for  Grandma,  one  for 
Julia  and  little  Anna. 

So  much  for  externals.  But  what  of  changing  the 
tenants  to  suit  the  house?  Would  time  and  patience 
ever  transform  Mrs.  Torney  into  a  busy,  useful  wo 
man?  Would  Geraldine  and  Regina  develop  into 
hopeless  incompetents  like  Marguerite,  or  pay  Julia 
for  all  her  trouble  by  becoming  happy  and  helpful  and 
contented  ? 


326  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Time  must  show.  Only  the  days  and  the  years  would 
answer  the  question  that  Julia  asked  of  the  fire.  There 
must  be  patience,  there  must  be  endless  effort,  there 
would  be  times  of  bitterest  discouragement  and  de 
pression.  And  in  the  end  ? 

In  the  end  there  would  only  be,  at  best,  one  family, 
out  of  millions  of  other  families,  saved  from  unnecessary 
suffering.  There  would  be  only  one  household  lifted 
from  the  weight  of  incompetence  and  wretchedness  that 
burdened  the  world.  There  would  be  no  miracle,  no 
appreciation,  no  gratitude. 

"But — who  knows?"  mused  Julia.  "It  may  save 
Geraldine  and  Regina  from  lives  like  Rita's,  and  bitter 
ness  like  Muriel's  and  Evelyn's.  It  may  save  them 
from  clouding  their  lives  as  I  did  mine.  Rita's  children, 
too,  who  knows  what  a  clean  and  sweet  ideal — held 
before  them,  may  do  for  them?  And  poor  Chess,  who 
has  been  wronged  all  his  life,  and  my  poor  little  grand 
mother,  and  Mama " 

It  was  the  thought  of  her  mother  that  turned  the  scale. 
Julia  thought  of  the  dirty  blankets  and  the  soggy  pil 
low  that  furnished  the  invalid's  chair,  of  the  treat  that 
a  simple  bowl  of  oyster  soup  seemed  to  the  failing  ap 
petite. 

"And  I  can  do  it!"  she  said  to  herself.  "It  will  be 
hard  for  months  and  months,  and  it  will  be  hard  now  to 
make  Aunt  Sanna  see  that  I  am  right;  but  I  can  do  it!" 
She  looked  about  the  luxurious  room,  and  smiled  a  little 
sadly.  "No  more  of  this!"  she  thought.  And  then 
longing  for  her  husband  came  with  a  sick  rush.  "Oh, 
Jimmy!"  she  whispered,  with  filling  eyes.  "If  it  was 
only  you  and  me,  my  d  arling !  I  f  we  were  going  anywhere 
together,  to  the  poorest  neighbourhood  and  the  meanest 
cabin  in  the  world — how  blessed  I  would  be!  How  we 
could  work  and  laugh  and  plan  together,  for  Anna  and 
the  others!"  But  presently  the  tears  dried  on  her 
cheeks.  "Never  mind,  it  will  keep  me  from  thinking 
too  hard,"  she  thought.  "I  shall  be  needed,  I  shall  be 
busy,  and  nothing  else  matters  much!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  327 

She  got  up,  and  went  to  one  of  the  great  windows  that 
looked  down  across  the  city.  The  rain  was  over,  dark 
masses  of  cloud  were  breaking  and  stirring  overhead; 
through  their  rifts  she  caught  the  silver  glimmer  of  the 
troubled  moon.  Across  the  shadowy  band  that  was  the 
bay  a  ferryboat,  pricked  with  hundreds  of  tiny  lights, 
was  moving  toward  the  glittering  chain  of  Oakland. 
There  was  a  light  on  Alcatraz,  and  other  nearer  lights 
scattered  through  the  dark  masts  and  dim  hulks  of  the 
vessels  in  the  harbour  below  her. 

"It  will  be  bright  to-morrow!"  Julia  thought,  resting 
her  forehead  against  the  glass.  She  was  weary  and 
spent;  a  measureless  exhaustion  seemed  to  enfold  her. 
Yet  under  it  all  there  glowed  some  new  spark  of  warm 
reassurance  and  certainty.  "Thank  God,  I  see  my  way 
clear  at  last!"  she  said  softly. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  kitchen  in  the  old  Cox  house  formed  a  sort  of 
one-story  annex  behind  the  building,  and  had  windows 
on  three  sides,  so  that  on  a  certain  exquisite  morning  in 
March,  four  years  later,  sunlight  flooded  the  two  eastern 
windows  and  fell  in  clear  squares  of  brightness  on  the 
checkered  blue-and-white  linoleum  on  the  floor.  There 
were  thin  muslin  sash  curtains  at  these  windows,  and 
white  shades  had  been  drawn  down  to  meet  them.  Some 
trailing  English  ivy  made  a  delicate  tracery  in  dark  green 
beside  one  window,  and  two  or  three  potted  begonias  on 
the  sill  lifted  transparent  trembling  blooms  to  the"  sun. 
The  rest  of  the  large  room  was  in  keeping  with  this 
cheerful  bit  of  detail.  There  was  a  shining  gas  stove 
beside  the  shining  coal  range,  and  a  picturesque  bit  of 
colour  in  the  blue  kettles  and  copper  casseroles  that 
stood  in  a  row  on  the  shelves  above  the  range.  A  pine 
cupboard  had  been  painted  white,  and  held  orderly 
rows  of  blue  plates  and  cups;  there  were  several  white- 
painted  chairs,  and  two  tables.  One  of  these  was 
pushed  against  the  west  wall,  and  was  of  pine  wood 
white  from  scrubbing;  the  other  stood  on  a  blue  rag  rug 
by  the  eastern  windows,  and  was  covered  by  a  fringed 
tablecloth  in  white  and  blue.  Near  the  outer  door, 
with  a  window  above  it,  was  a  white-enamelled  sink  in 
a  bright  frame  of  hanging  small  utensils. 

The  sunlight  twinkled  here  and  there  on  a  polished 
surface,  and  flung  a  trembling  bright  reflection  on  the 
ceiling  from  the  brass  faucets  of  the  sink.  A  clock  on 
the  wall  struck  seven. 

As  the  last  stroke  sounded,  Julia  Studdiford  quietly 
opened  the  hall  door  and  stepped  into  the  kitchen. 
She  softly  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  went  to  an- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  32U 

other  door,  at  which  she  paused  for  a  few  seconds  with 
her  head  bent  as  if  listening.  Evidently  satisfied  that 
no  one  stirred  in  the  bedroom  beyond  the  door,  she  set 
briskly  if  noiselessly  about  her  preparations  for  break 
fast. 

These  involved  the  tying  on  of  a  crisp  checked  apron, 
and  various  negotiations  with  a  large  enamelled  coffee 
pot,  an  egg,  and  the  dark  grounds  that  sent  a  heartening 
odour  of  coffee  through  the  room.  Bread  was  sliced 
and  trimmed  for  toast  with  delightful  evenness  and 
swiftness,  a  double  boiler  of  oatmeal  was  lifted  from  the 
fireless  cooker,  and  the  ice  box  made  to  furnish  more 
eggs  and  a  jar  of  damp,  firm  butter. 

It  was  while  making  a  little  journey  to  the  back  porch 
for  milk  and  cream  that  the  housekeeper  first  wavered 
in  her  swift  routine.  Below  the  back  steps  lay  a  little 
city  garden,  so  lovely  in  the  strengthening  March  sun 
light  that  she  must  set  her  bottles  down  on  the  step, 
and  run  down  for  a  whifF  of  the  fragrance  of  climbing 
roses,  just  beginning  to  bloom,  of  bridal-wreath  and 
white  lilac.  Cobwebs,  caught  from  bush  to  wet  bush, 
sparkled  with  jewels;  a  band  of  brown  sparrows  flew 
away  from  a  dripping  faucet,  and  a  black  cat,  crouching 
on  the  crosspieces  of  the  low  fence,  rose,  yawned, 
and  vanished  silently.  The  wall  was  almost  entirely 
hidden  by  vines,  principally  rose  vines,  which  flung  long 
arms  in  the  air.  Presently  a  woman  in  the  next  yard 
parted  these  vines,  to  look  over  and  say  pleasantly: 

"Good-mornin',  Mis'  Studdiford!  I's  just  looking 
over  an'  ^^-spairin'  of  ever  gettin'  my  backyard  to 
look  like  yours!  It  does  smell  like  one  big  bo'quet 
mornin's  like  this!" 

"Oh,  well,  there  are  so  many  of  us  to  fuss  with  it," 
said  the  young  woman  addressed,  cheerfully.  "My 
aunt  and  my  cousins  are  nearly  as  crazy  about  flowers 
as  I  am,  and  the  other  day — that  warm  day,  you  know, 
when  we  had  my  mother  out  here — she  was  just  as  ab 
sorbed  as  the  rest  of  us!"  She  put  a  friendly  head  over 
the  wall.  "But  I  don't  see  what  you've  got  to  com- 


330  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

plain  of,  Mrs.  Calhoun,"  said  she,  "especially  as  you're 
just  beginning!     I  see  your  geraniums  all  took  hold!" 

"Every  one  but  the  white  Lady  Washington,"  the 
woman  said.  "How  is  your  mother?"  she  added. 

"Pretty  comfortable,  thank  you!"  said  the  other. 
"I  imagine  she  may  have  had  a  restless  night,  for  both 
she  and  my  aunt  seem  to  be  asleep,  so  I'm  getting  break 
fast  for  my  cousins  and  uncle  myself!  And  I'm  not 
supposed  to  be  out  here  at  all!"  she  added,  with  a  fare 
well  laugh  and  nod,  as  she  turned  back  to  the  steps. 
"But  I  just  couldn't  resist  the  garden!" 

She  picked  up  the  milk  bottles  and  reentered  the 
kitchen  just  as  a  trimly  dressed  young  woman  came 
into  it  from  the  hall.  The  newcomer  was  tall,  and  if 
not  quite  pretty  was  at  least  a  fresh-looking,  pleasant- 
faced  girl.  She  wore  a  tailor-made  skirt  and  white 
shirt  waist,  and  a  round  hat  covered  with  flowers,  and 
laid  her  jacket  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Julie,  where's  Ma?"  said  she,  in  surprise.  "Have 
you  been  doing  everything?" 

"Not  everything!"  Julia  smiled.  "But  Aunt  May 
must  have  overslept  herself;  there  hasn't  been  a  sound 
from  their  room  this  morning.  Your  suit  looks  lovely," 
she  added  admiringly. 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  asked  the  younger  woman 
eagerly.  She  interrupted  her  task  of  putting  plates 
and  cups  on  the  table,  to  come  close  and  turn  toward 
Julia  the  back  of  her  head  for  inspection.  "Like  it?" 
asked  she. 

Julia  seriously  inspected  the  rhinestone  comb  that 
glittered  there. 

"Why,  I  don't  utterly  dislike  it,"  she  said,  in  her 
pleasant  voice. 

"But  you  don't  think  it's  in  good  taste,  Julie?" 

"Well  no,  not  exactly.     Not  for  the  office,  anyway." 

"All  right,  then — that  settles  it!"  the  young  woman 
assured  her.  "I'll  run  upstairs  after  breakfast  and 
change.  We  had  a  glorious  time  last  night!"  she  went 
on,  putting  her  head  on  one  side  to  give  the  table  a 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  331 

critical  glance.  "I'll  tell  you  about  it.  This  has  boiled 
up,  hasn't  it — it  can  be  settled?" 

"Yes,  settle  it,"  said  Julia,  buttering  toast,  "and  tell 
me!" 

But  at  this  moment  the  hall  door  opened  again,  and 
a  little  girl  of  four  and  a  half  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
She  was  so  lovely  a  vision,  with  her  trailing  wrapper 
and  white  nightgown  bunched  up  to  be  out  of  her  way, 
curls  tumbled  about  her  face,  and  eyes  big  with  reproach, 
that  both  women  laughed  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of 
her. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  with  that  lingering  on  the  last 
consonant  that  marks  the  hurt  pride  of  a  child,  "why 
diddunt  you  wake  me?" 

"Because  you  were  sleeping  so  nicely,  Pussy!"  Julia 
laughed,  on  her  knees  by  this  time,  with  both  arms 
about  the  little  figure.  "Give  me  a  thousand  kisses 
and  say  'I  love  my  mother!" 

"I  love  my  mother!"  said  Anna,  her  eyes  roving  the 
room  over  her  mother's  shoulder.  "I  guess  you  don't 
know  how  hard  you're  squeezing  me,  Mother!"  she 
added.  "Can  I  come  out  here  in  my  wrapper,  and  have 
breakfast  with  Regina?" 

"Yes,  let  her,  Julia!"  Regina  urged.  "Come  on, 
darling!  Bring  your  bowl  up  here  to  my  end.  Do  sit 
down  and  eat  something  yourself,  Julia." 

"This  is  the  way  to  enjoy  breakfast;  not  twenty  feet 
from  the  stove!"  Julia  said,  pouring  the  cream  into  her 
coffee.  "Was  Geraldine  stirring  when  you  got  up,  Re 
gina?" 

"Not  a  stir!"  Regina  said  cheerfully.  "She  and 
Morgan  were  talking  last  night  until  two — I  looked  at 
the  clock  when  she  came  upstairs!  What  they  have  to 
talk  about  gets  me!" 

"Oh,  my  dear,  engaged  people  could  talk  forever," 
Julia  said  leniently.  "They  were  househunting  yester 
day,  there's  always  so  much  to  talk  about!" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  the  people  who  don't  marry 
have  the  most  fun,"  Regina  said.  "Look  at  Muriel 


332  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

and  Evvy,  the  money  they  make!  Evvy  going  East 
for  the  firm  every  year,  and  Muriel  getting  her  little 
twenty-five  a  week.  And  then  look  at  Rita,  with  four 
children  to  slave  for— 

"Ah,  well,  Rita's  husband  doesn't  work  steadily, 
and  she  hates  housework — she  admits  it!"  Julia  pro 
tested  swiftly.  "Rita  could  do  a  good  deal,  if  she 
would." 

"Rita  gives  me  a  great  big  pain,"  said  her  younger 
sister  absently. 

"A  boy  named  Willis  had  a  sword,  and  he  hit  a  little 
boy  with  it,  and  Mrs.  Calhoun  said  it  was  a  wonder  he 
wasn't  killed!"  contributed  Anna  suddenly,  her  eyes 
luminous  from  some  thrilling  recollection. 

"Fancy!"  Julia  said.  "Eat  your  oatmeal,  Baby, 
and  run  upstairs  and  get  some  clothes  on!"  she  added 
briskly.  "You'll  catch  cold!" 

But  there  was  no  severity  in  the  glance  she  turned 
upon  her  daughter.  Indeed,  it  would  have  been  a  stern 
heart  that  little  Anna  Studdiford's  first  friendly  glance 
did  not  melt.  She  had  been  exquisite  from  her  baby 
hood,  she  was  so  lovely  now,  as  she  emerged  fron* 
irresponsible  infancy  to  thoughtful  little  girlhood,  that 
Julia  sometimes  wondered  how  she  could  preserve  so 
much  charm  and  beauty  unspoiled.  Anna  had  her 
mother's  ash-gold  hair,  but  where  Julia's  rose  firm  and 
winglike  from  her  forehead,  and  was  held  in  place  by  its 
own  smooth,  thick  braids,the  little  girl's  fell  in  rich,  shin 
ing  waves,  sprayed  in  fine  mist  across  her  eyes,  glittered, 
a  golden  mop  in  the  sunlight,  and  even  in  the  shade  threw 
out  an  occasional  gleam  of  gold.  Anna's  eyes  were  blue, 
with  curled  thick  lashes  like  her  mother's,  but  in  the 
firm  little  mouth  and  the  poise  of  her  head,  in  the  quick 
smile  and  quicker  frown,  Julia  saw  her  father  a  hundred 
times  a  day.  Her  skin  had  the  transparent  porcelain 
beauty  of  babyhood,  there  was  a  suggestion  of  violet 
shadow  about  her  eyes,  and  on  her  cheeks  there  glowed 
the  warm  colour  of  a  ripe  apricot.  Even  the  gingham 
aprons  and  sturdy  little  shoes  which  she  customarily 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  333 

wore  did  not  disguise  Anna's  beauty.  Julia  trusted 
more  to  the  child's  wise  little  head  than  to  the  faint  hope 
that  her  own  precautions  could  ward  off  flattery  and 
adulation.  The  two  had  been  constant  companions  for 
more  than  four  years:  Anna's  little  bed  close  to  her 
mother's  at  night,  Anna's  bright  head  never  out  of  Julia's 
sight  by  day.  If  Anna  showed  any  interest  in  what  her 
mother  was  reading,  Julia  gave  her  a  grave  review  of  the 
story;  if  Julia  went  to  market,  Anna  trotted  beside  her, 
deeply  concerned  as  to  cuts  of  meat  and  choices  among 
vegetables;  and  when  baking  was  afoot,  Anna  had  a  tiny 
moulding  board  on  a  chair,  and  cut  cookies  or  scalloped 
tarts  with  the  deep  enjoyment  of  the  born  cook. 

Once  or  twice  the  child  had  asked  for  her  father, 
accepting  quietly  enough  the  explanation  that  he  was  in 
Germany,  and  very  busy. 

"Aren't  we  going  to  see  him  some  time,  Mother?'5 

"Not  while  Grandma  needs  Mother  so  much,  dear!' 
Julia  would  answer  easily. 

Easily,  because  the  busy  months  with  their  pain  and 
joy,  their  problems  and  their  successes,  had  seemed  to 
seal  away  in  a  deep  crypt  her  memories  of  her  husband. 
Julia  had  been  afraid  to  think  of  him  at  first;  she  could 
not  make  herself  think  of  him  now;  his  image  drifted 
vaguely  away  from  her,  as  unreal  as  a  dream.  He  was 
as  much  a  name  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him,  never 
loved  him,  never  suffered  those  exquisite  agonies  of  grief 
and  shame  with  which  the  first  year  of  their  separation 
was  full.  Jim's  child  had  taken  his  place;  the  purity 
and  sweetness  of  the  child's  love  filled  Julia's  heart;  she 
wanted  only  Anna,  and  Anna  was  her  interpreter  for  all 
the  relationships  of  life.  Anna  first  made  her  draw  close 
to  her  own  mother;  Anna  was  at  once  her  spur  and  her 
reward  during  the  first  hard  years  at  Shotwell  Street. 

Anna  had  gone  upstairs,  and  Regina  was  finishing  her 
breakfast  when  Chester  came  downstairs,  followed  by 
the  still  sleepy  yet  shining-eyed  Geraldine.  Geraldine 
was  to  be  married  in  a  few  weeks  now,  and  had  given  up 


334  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

her  position  in  an  office,  to  devote  all  her  time  to  house- 
furnishing  and  sewing. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  to  be  so  late,"  smiled  Geraldine, 
"but  we  talked  until  I  don't  know  when  last  night!" 
She  poured  herself  a  cup  of  coffee;  the  meal  went  cheer 
fully  on.  Presently  the  bedroom  door  opened,  and  a 
stout,  handsome,  middle-aged  woman  came  into  the 
kitchen. 

Julia  was  used,  by  now,  to  the  transformation  that 
had  come  to  house  and  garden,  that  had  affected  every 
member  of  her  mother's  family  in  the  past  four  years. 
But  to  the  change  in  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Torney,  she  never 
became  quite  accustomed.  It  had  been  slow  in  coming; 
it  had  come  all  at  once.  There  had  been  weeks  when 
Julia  felt  that  nothing  would  ever  silence  the  whining 
voice,  or  make  useful  the  idle  hands.  There  had  been  a 
wretched  time  when  the  young  woman  had  wrarned  the 
older  that  matters  could  not  continue  as  they  were. 
There  had  been  agitated  decisions  on  Mrs.  Torney's 
part  to  go  away,  with  Regina,  to  starve  and  struggle 
again;  there  had  been  a  scene  when  Regina  coolly  refused 
to  leave  the  new  comforts  of  Julia's  rule. 

And  then,  suddenly,  there  was  a  new  woman  in  the 
family,  in  Aunt  May's  place.  Julia  always  dated  the 
change  from  a  certain  Thanksgiving  Day,  when  Mrs. 
Torney,  who  was  an  excellent  cook,  had  prepared  a  really 
fine  dinner.  Julia  and  the  girls  put  the  dining-room  in 
order,  a  wood  fire  roared  in  the  air-tight  stove,  another  in 
the  sitting-room  grate.  Julia  dressed  prettily;  she  put  a 
late  rose  in  her  mother's  hair,  draped  the  invalid's 
prettiest  shawl  about  the  thin  shoulders,  arrayed  the 
toddling  baby  in  her  daintiest  finery.  She  coaxed  her 
aunt  to  go  upstairs  to  make  herself  fresh  and  neat  just 
before  dinner,  and  during  the  whole  evening  Mrs. 
Torney's  sons  and  daughters,  Julia  and  Evelyn,  Chester 
and  Mrs.  Page  and  little  old  Mrs.  Cox  united  to  praise 
the  dinner  and  the  cook. 

It  was  as  if  poor  Aunt  May  had  come  into  her  own, 
had  been  given  at  last  the  role  to  which  she  had  always 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  335 

been  suited.  Handsome  in  her  fresh  shirt  waist  and 
black  skirt,  with  her  gray  hair  coiled  above  a  shining 
face,  she  beamed  over  turkey  dressing  and  cranberry 
sauce;  she  laughed  until  she  cried,  when  Elmer,  who  had 
come  from  Oakland  for  the  feast,  solemnly  prefaced  a 
request  for  more  mince  pie  with  a  reckless:  "Come  on, 
Lloyd,  let's  die  together;  it's  worth  it!" 

From  that  day  hers  was  the  happy  part  of  the 
bustling  housewife.  No  New  England  matron  ever  took 
more  pride  in  cup  cakes  or  apple  pies,  no  kitchen  in  the 
world  gave  forth  more  savoury  odours  of  roast  meats  and 
new-baked  bread.  Mrs.Torney's  heavy  tread  on  the 
kitchen  floor  was  usually  the  first  thing  Julia  heard  in  the 
morning,  and  late  at  night  the  infatuated  housekeeper 
would  slip  out  to  the  warm,  clean,  fragrant  place  for  a 
last  peep  at  rising  dough  or  simmering  soup.  Aunt 
May  read  the  magazines  now  only  to  seek  out  new  com 
binations  of  meats  and  vegetables.  Julia  would  smile, 
to  glance  across  the  dining-room  to  her  aunt's  chair  be 
neath  the  lamp,  and  see  the  big,  kindly  face  pucker  over 
some  startling  discovery. 

"Em!"  Mrs.  Torney  would  remove  her  glasses,  she 
would  address  her  sister  in  shocked  tones.  "Here 
they've  got  a  sour-cream  salad  dressing.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a  thing!" 

"For  heaven's  sake!"  Mrs.  Page  would  look  up  from 
her  absorbed  watching  of  Chester's  solitaire,  drop  her 
emaciated  little  head  back  against  the  waiting  pillow. 

"Try  it  some  time,  Aunt  May,  you  could  make  any 
thing  taste  good!"  Julia  might  suggest.  But  Mrs.  Tor 
ney  would  shake  a  doubtful  head  and,  with  a  muttered 
"Sour  cream!"  resume  her  glasses  and  her  magazine. 

Now  she  was  tying  a  crisp  apron  over  her  blue  cotton 
dress,  and  ready  with  a  smiling  explanation  for  Julia. 

"  I  declare,  Ju,  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  my  alarm. 
I  never  woke  up  at  all  until  quarter  to  eight  o'clock! 
Don't  start  those  dishes,  lovey,  there's  no  hurry!" 

"I  was  afraid  that  Mama'd  had  a  bad  night,"  Julia 


336  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

said,  smiling  a  good-morning  from  the  sink.  "Sit 
down,  Aunt  May,  I'll  bring  you  your  coffee!" 

"No,  Emeline  had  a  real  good  night.  She  was  read 
ing  a  while,  about  three,  but  she's  sound  asleep  now." 

"I  lighted  a  fire  in  the  dining-room,"  said  Chester, 
"just  to  take  the  chill  off,  if  Em  wants  to  go  in  there!" 

"Then  I'll  bring  my  sewing  down,  after  the  beds  are 
made,"  Geraldine  said.  "You  go  to  market  if  you 
want  to,  Julie;  I'll  do  your  room." 

" Well,"  Julia  agreed,  "perhaps  I  can  get  back  before 
Mama  wakes.  I'll  go  up  and  see  what  Anna  is  doing. " 

Regina  and  Chester  presently  went  off  to  their  work, 
Mrs.  Torney  and  Geraldine  fell  upon  the  breakfast 
dishes,  and  Julia  went  upstairs.  She  found  the  little 
Anna  dreaming  by  a  sunny  window,  one  stocking  on,  one 
leg  still  bare,  and  her  little  petticoat  hanging  unbuttoned. 

"Come,  Infant,  this  won't  do!"  Julia's  practised 
hands  made  quick  work  of  the  small  girl's  dressing.  A 
stiff  blue  gingham  garment  went  on  over  Anna's  head, 
the  tumbled  curls  were  subjugated  by  a  blue  ribbon. 
When  it  was  left  to  Anna  merely  to  lace  her  shoes,  Julia 
began  to  go  about  the  room,  humming  as  she  busied  her 
self  with  bureau  and  bed.  She  presently  paused  at  the 
mirror  to  pin  on  a  wide  hat,  and  her  eye  fell  upon  the 
oval-framed  picture  of  Jim  that  she  had  carried  away 
with  her  from  the  Pacific  Avenue  house.  It  had 
been  taken  by  some  clever  amateur;  had  always  been 
a  favourite  with  her.  She  studied  it  dispassionately  for 
a  moment. 

Jim  had  been  taken  in  tennis  clothes;  his  racket  was 
still  in  his  hand,  his  thin  shirt  opened  to  show  the 
splendid  line  of  throat  and  chin.  His  thick  hair  was 
rumpled,  the  sunlight  struck  across  his  smiling  face. 
Julia's  memory  could  supply  the  twinkle  in  his  eye;  she 
could  hear  him  call  to  Alan  Gregory:  "For  the  Lord's 
sake,  cut  this  short,  Greg !  It's  roasting  out  here ! " 

Beside  this  picture  hung  another,  smaller,  and  also  a 
snapshot.  This  was  of  a  man,  too,  a  tall,  thin,  un 
gainly  man,  sitting  on  a  roadside  rock,  with  a  battered 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  337 

old  hat  in  his  hand.  Behind  him  rose  a  sharp  spur  of 
rough  mountainside,  and  so  sharply  did  the  ground  fall 
away  at  his  feet  that  far  below  him  was  a  glimpse  of  the 
level  surface  of  the  Pacific.  Julia  smiled  at  this  picture, 
and  the  picture  smiled  back. 

"Come,  Mouse!"  said  she,  rousing  herself  from  a 
reverie  a  moment  later.  "Get  on  your  hat!  You  and  I 
have  to  go  to  market!" 

The  morning  wore  on;  it  was  like  a  thousand  other 
happy  mornings.  Julia  and  Anna  loitered  in  the  cool 
odorous  fish  stalls  at  the  market,  welcomed  asparagus 
back  to  its  place  in  the  pleasant  cycle  of  the  year's 
events,  inspected  glowing  oranges  and  damp  crisp  heads 
of  lettuce;  stopped  at  the  hardware  store  for  Aunt  May's 
new  meat  chopper,  stopped  at  the  stationer's  for  Anna's 
St.  Nicholas,  stopped  at  the  florist's  to  breathe  deep 
breaths  of  the  damp  fragrant  air,  and  to  get  some  butter 
cups  for  Grandma. 

Julia's  mother  was  in  the  kitchen  when  she  and  Anna 
got  home,  her  dark  hair  still  damp  from  brushing,  her 
thin  wrists  no  whiter  than  her  snowy  ruffles.  Presently 
they  all  moved  into  the  dining-room,  where  Geraldine's 
sewing  machine  was  temporarily  established,  and  where 
Anna's  blocks  had  a  corner  to  themselves.  The  in 
valid,  between  intervals  of  knitting,  watched  them  all 
with  her  luminous  and  sympathetic  smile. 

"A  letter  for  you,  Julie,  and  four  for  me,"  said  the 
bride-elect,  coming  back  from  the  door  after  the  post 
man's  ring. 

"  Four  for  you — Gerry !     You  lucky  thing ! " 

"Well — two  are  from  Morgan,"  admitted  Geraldine, 
smiling,  and  there  was  a  laugh  as  Julia  opened  her  own 
letter. 

"It's  from  Dr.  Richard  Toland,"  she  announced  a 
moment  later.  "He  says  Mill  Valley  is  too  beautiful 
for  words  just  now.  How'd  you  like  to  go  over  and 
see  Uncle  Richie  to-morrow,  Anna?" 

"I'd  love  it,"  said  Anna  unhesitatingly. 


338  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"We've  not  been  for  weeks,"  Julia  said,  "I'd  love  it, 
too,  if  my  Marmer  doesn't  mind?"  She  turned  her 
bright  smile  to  her  mother.  "Regina  says  she  has  an 
engagement  with  the  O'Briens  for  Sunday,"  said  she, 
"and  if  Gerry  goes  off  with  Morgan,  will  that  leave 
things  too  quiet?" 

"Indeed  it  won't!"  said  Mrs.  Torney,  looking  up 
from  the  tissue-paper  pattern  over  which  she  had  hung 
in  profound  bewilderment  for  almost  half  an  hour. 
"Rita  may  bring  some  of  the  children  in,  or  Lloyd  and 
Elmer  may  come  over.  Go  along  with  you ! " 

Richie,  much  stronger  in  these  days,  and  without  his 
crutch,  though  still  limping  a  little,  met  Julia  and  the 
dancing  Anna  on  the  following  afternoon,  and  the  three 
crossed  the  ferry  together.  It  was  a  day  bursting  with 
summer's  promise,  the  air  was  pure  and  warm,  and  the 
sky  cloudless.  Getting  out  of  the  train  at  Mill  Valley, 
Julia  drew  an  ecstatic  breath. 

"Oh,  Richie,  what  heavenly  freshness!  Doesn't  it 
just  smooth  your  forehead  down  like  a  cool  hand!" 

There  was  a  poignant  sweetness  to  the  mountain  air, 
washed  clear  by  the  late  rains,  and  warmed  and  in 
vigorated  by  the  sunshine  of  the  lengthening  March  day. 
The  country  roads  were  dark  and  muddy  and  churned 
by  wheel  tracks,  but  fringed  with  emerald  grass.  Even 
at  four  o'clock  the  little  valley  was  plunged  in  early 
shadow,  but  sunshine  lay  still  upon  the  hills  that  framed 
it,  and  long  lines  of  light  threw  the  grim  heights  of 
Tamalpais  into  bold  relief.  The  watching  tiers  of  the 
redwoods  looked  refreshed,  their  spreading  dark  fans 
were  tipped  with  the  jade-green  sprays  of  the  year's 
new  growth.  The  first  pale  smoke  of  wild  lilac  bloom 
lay  over  the  hills. 

"It  makes  you  think  of  delicious  words,"  said  Julia,  as 
Richie's  rusty  white  mare  plodded  up  and  up  the 
mountain  road.  "Ozone — and  aromatic — and  ex 
hilarating!  In  town  it  was  a  little  oppressive  to-day — 
Anna  and  I  were  quite  wilted!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  339 

"You  don't  look  wilted!"  Richie  smiled  at  his  god 
daughter,  who  was  in  her  mother's  arms.  "Look,  Ju — 
there's  columbine !  Loads  of  it  up  near  my  place ! " 

"And  the  wild  currant,  with  that  delicious  pungent 
smell!"  sighed  Julia  blissfully.  "What's  new  with  you, 
Richie?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Oh,  nothing  much!  Cable  from  Bab  yesterday, 
but  you  must  have  had  one,  too?" 

"Yes,  I  did.  A  third  boy!"  Julia  laughed.  "Poor 
Bab — when  she  wanted  a  girl  so  badly!" 

"I  suppose  she  did,"  grinned  Richard. 

"Oh,  of  course  she  did!  Who  wouldn't?"  Julia 
hugged  her  own  girl.  "And  isn't  it  glorious  about 
Keith?"  she  added,  with  sudden  enthusiasm. 

"Is  it?  I  suppose  it  is,"  Richie  said.  "But  then 
those  old  guys  in  Germany  called  him  a  genius  long  be 
fore  New  York  did,  and  you  girls  didn't  make  so  much 
fuss!" 

"Oh,  but  Richie,  there's  so  much  money  in  this  Amer 
ican  tour;  three  concerts  in  New  York  alone,  think  of  it ! " 
Julia  protested  eagerly.  "And  Sally's  letter  sounded 
so  gay;  they  were  having  a  perfectly  glorious  time.  I 
hope  they  come  to  San  Francisco!" 

"Well,  she  deserves  it,"  Richie  observed,  flicking  the 
rusty  mare  with  a  whip  she  superbly  ignored.  "Sally's 
had  a  pretty  rotten  time  of  it  for  seven  or  eight  years — 
paying  his  lesson  bills  when  she  didn't  have  enough  to 
eat  or  shoes  to  wear — and  losing  the  baby 

"I  don't  believe  all  that  meant  as  much  to  Sally  as 
you  think,"  Julia  said  sagely.  "Her  entire  heart  was 
set  upon  Keith's  success,  and  that  has  come  along 
pretty  steadily.  Her  letter  to  me  about  the  baby  wasn't 
the  sort  I  should  have  written;  indeed,  I  couldn't  have 
written  at  all!  And  then  that  was  four  years  ago, 
Richie,  and  four  years  is  a  long  time!" 

"It  is!"  Richie  agreed.  "Keith's  about  all  the 
baby  she'll  ever  want;  those  fellows  take  an  awful  lot 
of  spoiling.  But  I  get  more  pleasure  from  Mother's 
and  Dad's  pleasure  than  for  Sally  herself,"  he  added. 


340  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Mother  saves  up  newspaper  accounts,  and  has  this 
translated  from  the  German  and  that  from  the  French 
— it's  sort  of  pathetic  to  see!  Dad  and  Janey  are  in 
New  York  now;  something  was  said  last  night  about 
their  going  over  to  see  Bab." 

"Ted  and  your  mother  are  alone,  then?  How's 
Ted?" 

"Oh,  driving  Mother  crazy,  as  usual.  She'd  flirt 
with  the  Portuguese  milkman  if  she  had  a  chance.  She 
can't  seem  to  understand  that  because  she  wants  to  be 
free  she  isn't  free!  Talks  about  'if  I  marry  again,' 
and  so  on.  Of  course  Carleton's  marrying  again  has 
made  her  wild." 

"But,  good  heavens,  Richie,  Ted  ought  to  have 
some  sense!" 

"Well,  she  hasn't.  She  stretched  a  point  to  marry 
him,  d'you  see?  Carleton  had  been  baptized  as  a  child, 
and  his  first  wife  hadn't,  and  they  were  married  by  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  or  something  of  that  sort.  So 
Ted  claimed  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  Church  he  hadn't 
been  married  at  all,  and  she  married  him.  Then " 

"But  if  she  loved  him,  Richie — and  Ted  was  so 
young!" 

"All  true,  of  course,  only  if  you're  going  to  push 
things  to  the  point  of  taking  advantage  of  a  quibble 
like  that,  your  chance  of  happiness  is  more  or  less  slim! 
So  three  years  ago  Carleton  proved  that  he  hadn't  cared 
a  whoop  about  the  legal  or  religious  aspects  of  the  case, 
and  left  Ted.  And  now  Ted  can't  see  herself,  at 
twenty-seven,  tied  to  another  woman's  husband!" 

"She  has  her  boy,"  Julia  said  severely. 

"Yep,  but  that  doesn't  seem  to  count." 

"Well,  it's  funny,  Richie,  take  us  all  in  all,  what  a 
mess  we've  made  of  marrying!"  Julia  mused.  "Ned 
gives  me  the  impression,  every  time  I  see  him,  of  being 
a  sulky  martyr  in  his  own  home;  Sally's  managed  to 
drag  happiness  out  of  a  most  hopeless  situation;  Ted, 
of  course,  will  never  be  happy  again,  like  Jim  and  me; 
and  Connie,  although  she  made  an  exemplary  marriage, 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  §41 

either  has  to  leave  her  husband  or  bring  her  baby  up  in 
Manila,  which  she  says  positively  isn't  safe!  Bab  is  the 
only  shining  success  among  us  all!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Richie  said,  stopping  the  horse, 
and  flinging  the  reins  to  the  Portuguese  who  came  out 
of  a  small  barn  to  meet  them.  "Here  we  are,  Ju — take 
your  time!  I've  always  considered  you  rather  success 
ful,"  he  resumed. 

"Oh,  me!"  Julia  laughed  as  she  jumped  down  like  a 
girl.  She  followed  Anna  across  a  little  hollow  filled 
with  buttercups  and  long  grasses,  and  they  mounted  the 
little  rise  to  Richie's  tiny  cabin.  The  little  house  had 
Mount  Tamalpais  for  a  background,  and  its  wide  un 
roofed  porch  faced  across  the  valley,  and  commanded  a 
view  of  the  wooded  ridges,  and  the  marshes,  and  the  dis 
tant  bay,  and  of  San  Francisco  twelve  miles  away. 
Scrub  oaks  and  bay  trees  grew  in  a  tangle  all  about  it, 
even  a  few  young  redwoods  and  an  occasional  bronze 
and  white  madrona  tree.  Wild  roses  and  field  flowers 
crowded  against  its  very  walls,  and  under  the  trees  there 
were  iris  and  brown  lilies,  and  a  dense  undergrowth  of 
manzanita  and  hazelnut  bushes,  wild  currant  and  wild 
lilac  trees. 

The  big  room  that  Julia  entered  first  was  dim  with 
pleasant  twilight,  and  full  of  the  sweet  odours  of  a  dying 
wood  fire.  It  had  nothing  of  distinction  in  it:  a  few 
shabby  chairs,  an  old  square  piano,  an  unpainted  floor 
crossed  here  and  there  by  rugs,  books  in  cases  and  out 
of  them,  candlesticks  along  the  brick  mantel,  a  green- 
shaded  student's  lamp  on  a  long  table,  and  several 
wide  windows,  dim  and  opaque  now  in  the  fast-gather 
ing  darkness,  but  usually  framing  each  a  picture  of 
matchless  mountain  scenery. 

A  door  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace  led  into  a  tiny 
kitchen  whose  windows  looked  out  into  oak  branches; 
and  another  door,  on  the  other  side,  gave  access  to  a 
little  cement-floored  bathroom  with  a  shower,  and  two 
small  bedrooms,  each  with  two  beds  built  in  tiers  like 
bunks.  This  was  Richie's  whole  domain,  and  whether 


342  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

it  was  really  saturated  with  the  care-free  atmosphere  of 
childhood,  and  fragrant  with  the  good  breath  of  the 
countryside  all  about  it,  or  whether  Julia  only  imagined 
it  to  be  so,  she  found  it  perfect,  and  was  never  so  happy 
in  these  days  as  when  she  and  Anna  were  there.  She 
was  always  busy,  and  satisfied  in  her  work,  but  there 
were  needs  of  heart  and  mind  that  her  own  people  could 
not  meet,  and  when  these  rose  strong  within  her  she 
found  no  company  as  bracing  and  as  welcome  as  Rich 
ard's. 

"No  Aunt  Sanna?"  said  she  cheerfully,  when  she 
had  taken  off  her  hat  and  the  small  girl's,  and  was  in 
her  favourite  chair  by  the  fire. 

"No,  darn  it!"  said  Richie,  struggling  with  a  refrac 
tory  lamp  wick. 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  blue,  Rich!     She'll  be  here  on  the 


seven." 


"No,  she  won't — she  said  the  four — I  expected  to 
find  her  here,"  Richie  said,  settling  the  glass  chimney 
into  place,  as  the  light  crept  round  the  wick.  A  little 
odour  of  hot  kerosene  floated  on  the  air,  and  was  lost  in 
other  odours  from  the  kitchen,  where  a  Chinese  boy 
was  padding  about  in  the  poor  light  of  one  lamp.  He 
began  to  come  and  go,  setting  the  table,  the  ecstatic 
Anna  at  his  heels.  Whenever  the  outer  door  was 
opened,  a  cool  rush  of  sweet  country  air  came  in.  Richie 
began  to  stamp  back  and  forth  with  great  logs  for  the 
fireplace. 

"Wonderful  what  millions  of  miles  away  from  every 
one  we  seem,  Rich!"  Julia  said  contentedly.  "Was 
there  ever  anything  like  the  quiet  of  this  mountain?" 

"I'm  terribly  sorry  about  Aunt  Sanna,"  Richie  said. 
"I  feel  like  an  ass — getting  you  way  up  here!" 

"Why,  my  dear  boy,  it's  not  your  fault!"  Julia  said, 
round  eyed. 

"She  said  she  would  positively  be  here,"  Richie  pur 
sued.  "I  suppose  there's  no  earthly  reason '  he 

added  uncomfortably. 

"Why  you  and  I  shouldn't  stay  here  alone?  I  should 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  343 

hope  not!"  Julia  reassured  him  roundly.  "And  she 
may  come  on  the  seven,  anyway!" 

"These  are  the  times  I  wish  I  had  a  telephone," 
oaid  Richie. 

"Aw  leddy,"  contributed  the  Chinese  boy.  They 
took  their  places  at  the  table,  and  dinner  was  eaten  by 
the  light  of  the  lamp.  But  after  dinner,  when  Julia 
had  tucked  Anna  into  bed,  she  came  back  and  put  out 
the  lamp.  She  lighted  two  candles  on  the  mantelpiece 
that  sent  a  brave  flicker  over  the  dull  walls  and  up  to 
the  ceiling. 

"There!"  said  she,  with  an  energetic  stirring  of  the 
fire,  as  she  took  her  chair  again,  "that's  the  way  I  like 
this  room  to  look!" 

Richard  disposed  of  his  awkward  length  in  an  oppo 
site  chair,  his  big  bony  hands  interlocked.  In  the  fire 
and  candlelight  Julia  looked  very  young,  her  loosened 
hair  glimmering  against  the  back  of  her  chair,  her  thin 
white  skirts  spreading  in  a  soft  circle  above  her  slipper 
buckles.  The  man  noticed  the  serene  rise  and  fall  of 
her  breast  under  her  thin  blouse,  the  content  in  her 
half-shut  blue  eyes.  He  let  his  thoughts  play  for  a  mo 
ment  with  the  perilous  dream  that  she  belonged  here 
at  his  hearth,  that  her  sweetness,  her  demure  happiness, 
her  earnest  interest  in  everything  that  concerned  him, 
were  all  his  by  right. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  to  do  about  this!  "  he  said 
gruffly. 

"What — our  'being  here?"  Julia  looked  surprised. 
"Why,  Richie,  what  can  we  do?  Do  you  think  it  mat 
ters,  one  night?  After  all,  we're  brother  and  sister-in- 
law!" 

"^  Almost,"  said  Richie,  with  a  laugh. 

"Why,  Rich,  I  would  never  give  it  one  moment's 
thought;  not  if  I  stayed  here  a  month!  "Julia  assured  him. 
"And  neither  would  any  one  else.  Don't  be  so  silly!" 

"It's  not  me;  but  it  isn't  fair  to  you!"  Richard  said. 

Julia  had  grown  a  little  red.  Now  she  stared  into  the 
fire. 


344  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"This  sort  of  fuss  isn't  like  you,  Rich,"  she  said 
presently,  with  an  uncomfortable  laugh.  "You — you 
don't  usually  talk  about  such  things!" 

"No,  I  know  I  don't,"  Richard  admitted,  untouched 
by  her  reproach.  "I  could  go  up  to  Porter's  and  try  to 
get  Aunt  Sanna  by  telephone!"  he  muttered. 

Julia  was  displeased,  and  made  no  answer,  and  pres 
ently  he  got  up  and  went  out.  She  sat  there  listening 
to  the  rattle  of  dishes  in  the  kitchen,  until  a  splash  an 
nounced  the  dishpan  emptied  under  the  oak  trees,  and 
the  Chinese  through  with  his  work  for  the  night.  After 
a  while  she  went  to  the  doorway,  and  stared  out  at  the 
starry  sky  and  the  dark  on  darkness  that  marked  masses 
of  trees  and  long  spurs  of  the  mountain.  The  air  was 
sweet  and  chilly,  frogs  were  peeping,  from  somewhere 
near  came  the  steady  rush  of  a  swollen  creek. 

While  Julia  stood  on  the  porch  a  livery  hack  from  the 
village  creaked  up,  and  stopped  ten  feet  away.  The 
horses  were  blowing  on  the  steep  grade,  and  a  strong 
odour  from  the  animals  and  their  sweated  harness 
smote  the  pure  night  air.  The  carnage  lanterns  sent  a 
wavering  brightness  across  the  muddy  road,  the  grass 
looked  artificial  in  the  yellow  light.  Miss  Toland,  voci 
ferating  apology  and  explanation,  emerged  from  the 
carriage. 

When  Richard  came  back  from  his  fruitless  errand  he 
found  both  women  enjoying  the  fire,  Miss  Toland's 
skirt  folded  over  her  knees,  her  veil  pushed  up  on  her 
forehead.  In  his  enormous  relief,  Richie  felt  that  he 
could  have  danced  and  sung.  He  busied  himself  brew 
ing  a  hot  drink  for  the  older  woman. 

"Richie,"  said  Julia,  with  a  pleasant  childish  note  of 
triumphant  reproach  in  her  voice,  "was  worried  to 
death  because  I  was  here  alone  with  Anna!  Don't  you 
think  he's  crazy,  Aunt  Sanna?" 

"Why,  you  two  have  been  here  alone?"  Miss  Toland 
asked,  stirring  her  chocolate. 

"No,  we  haven't!"  Julia  answered  cheerfully.  "I 
never  thought  of  it  before;  but  this  dear  old  maid 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  345 

either  has  you  here,  or  Janey,  or  Doctor  Brice's  Mary 
from  the  village — isn't  he  queer?" 

"It  isn't  as  if  you  weren't  practically  brother  and 
sister,  Richie,"  Miss  Toland  said  moderately.  "Not 
too  much  butter,  dear!"  she  interpolated,  in  reference 
to  the  toast  her  nephew  was  making,  adding  a  moment 
later,  "Still,  I  don't  know — a  pretty  woman  in  your 
position  can't  be  too  careful,  Julia!" 

"Oh,  Lord,  you're  an  appreciative  pair!"  Richard 
said  disgustedly,  going  out  to  the  kitchen  for  more 
bread. 

Presently  Miss  Toland  complained  of  fatigue,  and 
left  them  to  the  fire.  And  sitting  there,  almost  silent, 
Julia  thought  that  she  had  never  found  her  host  so 
charming  before.  His  rambling  discourse  amused  her, 
touched  her;  she  loved  his  occasional  shy  introduction 
of  a  line  of  poetry,  his  eager  snatching  of  a  book  now  and 
then  to  illuminate  some  point  with  half  a  page  of  prose. 

"Pleasant,  isn't  this,  Rich?"  she  asked  lazily,  in  a 
quiet  interval. 

"Oh,  pleasant!"  He  cleared  his  throat.  "Yes — it's 
very  pleasant!" 

"And  why  couldn't  you  and  I  have  done  this  just  as 
well  without  Aunt  Sanna?"  Julia  asked  triumphantly. 

Richard  gave  her  a  look  full  of  all-dignified  endurance, 
a  look  that  wondered  a  little  that  she  could  like  to  give 
him  pain. 

"No  reason  at  all,"  said  he.  And  a  sudden  suspicion 
flamed  in  Julia's  heart  with  all  the  surety  of  an  in 
spiration. 

The  revelation  came  in  absolute  completeness;  she 
had  never  even  suspected  Richie's  little  tragedy  before. 
For  a  few  moments  Julia  sat  stunned,  then  she  said 
seriously: 

"I  always  feel  myself  so  much  Jim's  wife,  Rich;  I 
suppose  it's  a  sort  of  protection  to  me.  It  never  occurs 
to  me  that  any  one  could  think  me  less  bound  than  I 
think  myself." 

"Sure  you  do!"  Richard  said,  struggling  with  the 


346  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

back  log.  "  But  other  people  might  not !  And  it  would 
be  rotten  to  have  him  come  back  and  hear  anything." 

"I  suppose  he'll  come  back,"  Julia  said,  dreamily,  al 
most  in  a  whisper.  "I  don't  think  of  it  much,  now! 
I  used  to  think  of  it  a  good  deal  at  first;  I  used  to  cry 
all  night  long  sometimes,  and  write  him  long  letters  that 
I  never  sent.  It  seemed  as  if  the  longing  for  him  was 
burning  me  up,  like  a  fire!" 

"Damn  him!"  Richard  muttered. 

"Oh,  no,  Richie,  don't  say  that!"  Julia  protested. 
Richard,  still  on  one  knee,  with  the  poker  in  his  hand, 
turned  to  her  almost  roughly. 

"For  God's  sake,  Julie,  don't  defend  him!  I'll  hold 
my  tongue  about  him,  I  suppose,  as  I  always  have  done, 
but  don't  pretend  he  has  any  excuse  for  treating  you 
this  way!  You — the  best  and  sweetest  and  bravest 
woman  that  ever  lived,  bringing  happiness  and  decency 
wherever  you  go " 

"Richie,  Richie,  stop!"  Julia  protested,  between 
laughter  and  tears.  "Don't  talk  so!  I  will  defend 
Jim,"  she  added  gravely,  "  and  he  did  have  an  excuse.  It 
seems  unfair  to  me  that  he  should  have  all  the  blame." 
She  held  her  hand  out,  fingers  spread  to  the  reviving 
flame,  rosy  and  transparent  in  the  glow. 

"Rich,  no  one  knows  this  but  Jim  and  I;  not  Aunt 
Sanna,  not  my  own  mother,"  she  presently  resumed. 
"  But  it  makes  what  he  did  a  little  clearer,  and  I'm  going 
to  tell  you." 

"Don't  tell  me  anything,"  said  Richard  gruffly,  eyes 
on  the  fire. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to,"  Julia  answered.  But  she  was  silent 
for  a  while,  a  look  of  infinite  sadness  on  her  musing  face. 
"I  made  a  serious  mistake  when  I  was  a  girl,  Rich,"  she 
went  on,  after  an  interval.  "I  had  no  reason  for  it — 
not  great  love,  or  great  need.  I  had  no  excuse.  Or, 
yes,  I  did  have  this  excuse:  I  had  been  spoiled;  I  had 
been  told  that  I  was  unusual,  independent,  responsible 
to  nobody.  I  knew  that  this  thing  existed  all  about  me, 
and  if  I  thought  of  it  at  all,  I  suppose  I  thought  that 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  347 

there  could  be  nothing  so  very  dreadful  about  what  men 
did  as  a  matter  of  course!  Perhaps  that's  the  best  ex 
planation;  my  mind  was  like  a  young  boy's.  I  didn't 
particularly  seek  out  this  thing,  or  want  this  thing;  but  I 
was  curious,  and  it  came  my  way— 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,  Richie.  I  wasn't  ' be 
trayed.'  I'd  had,  I  suppose,  as  little  good  instruction, 
as  little  example,  and  watching  and  guarding  as  any  girl 
in  the  world.  But  I  knew  better!  Just  as  every  boy 
knows  better,  and  is  taken,  sooner  or  later,  unawares.  Of 
course,  if  I'd  been  a  boy — all  this  would  be  only  a 
memory  now,  hardly  shameful  or  regrettable  even,  dim 
and  far  away!  Especially  as  it  lasted  only  a  few  weeks, 
before  I  was  sixteen! 

"And,  of  course,  people  would  say  that  I  haven't  paid 
the  full  penalty,  being  a  girl  instead  of  a  boy!  Look  at 
poor  Tess,  and  Trilby,  and  Hetty  in  'Adam  Bede!'  I 
never  let  any  one  know  it;  even  your  aunt  never  would 
have  overlooked  that,  whatever  she  might  say  now.  No; 
even  Jim  protected  me — and  yet,"  Julia  put  her  head 
back,  shut  her  eyes,  "and  yet  I've  paid  a  thousand 
times!"  said  she. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  Richard  said: 

"I've  thought  sometimes  this  might  be  it,  Ju.  Being 
alone  so  much,  and  reading  and  thinking — I've  worked 
it  out  in  my  own  mind.  Aunt  Sanna  saw  Jim  in  Berlin 
two  years  ago,  you  know,  and  gave  him  a  horrible 
raking  over  the  coals,  and  just  from  what  she  quoted,  it 
seemed  as  if  there  was  some  secret  about  it,  and  that  it 
lay  with  you.  Then,  of  course,"  Richie  eased  his  lame 
leg  by  stretching  it  at  full  length  before  him,  sinking 
down  in  his  chair,  finger  tips  meeting,  "of  course  I 
knew  Jim,"  he  resumed.  "Jim's  pride  is  his  weak  point. 
He^s  like  a  boy  in  that :  he  wants  everything  or  nothing. 
He's  like  all  my  mother's  children,"  said  Richie,  com 
fortably  analytical,  "undisciplined.  Chill  penury  never 
repressed  our  noble  rages;  we  never  knew  the  sweet  uses 
of  adversity.  I  did,  of  course,  but  here  I  am,  a  childless 
man  getting  on  in  years,  not  apt  to  leave  a  deep  impres- 


348  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

sion  on  the  coming  generation.  It's  a  funny  world, 
Julie!  It's  a  strange  sort  of  civilization  to  pose  under 
the  name  of  Christ.  Christ  had  no  double  standard  of 
morals;  Christ  forgave.  Law  is  all  very  well,  society  has 
its  uses,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  there  are  higher  standards 
than  either!" 

"Well,  that  has  come  to  me  forcibly  during  the  past 
few  years,"  Julia  said  thoughtfully.  "I  wasn't  a  pray 
ing  small  girl;  how  could  I  be  ?  But  after  I  went  to  The 
Alexander,  being  physically  clean  and  respectable  made 
me  long  to  be  clean  all  over,  I  suppose,  and  I  began  to  go 
to  church,  and  after  a  while  I  went  to  confession,  Rich, 
and  I  felt  made  over,  as  if  all  the  stain  of  it  had  slipped 
away!  And  then  Jim  came,  and  I  told  him  all  about 

"  Before  you  were  married  ? " 

"Oh,  Richie,  of  course!'.' 

"Well,  then,  what — if  he  knew " 

"Oh,  Richie,  that's  the  terrible  part.  For  I  thought 
it  was  all  dead  and  gone,  and  it  was  all  dead  and  gone  as 
far  as  I  was  concerned!  But  we  couldn't  forget  it — it 
suddenly  seemed  a  live  issue  all  over  again;  it  just 
rose  and  stood  between  us,  and  I  felt  so  helpless,  and 
poor  Jim,  I  think  he  was  helpless,  too ! " 

Richard  made  no  comment,  and  there  was  a  silence. 

"You  know  Jim  wasn't  a — wasn't  exactly  a  saint, 
Ju,"  Richard  said  awkwardly  after  a  while. 

"I  know,"  she  answered  with  a  quick  nod. 

"  I  believe  he  was  an  exceptionally  decent  fellow,  as 
fellows  go,"  pursued  Richie.  "  But,  of  course,  it  is  the 
accepted  thing.  On  Jim's  first  vacation,  after  he  entered 
college,  he  told  me  he  didn't  care  much  for  that  sort  of 
thing— we  had  a  long  talk  about  it.  But  a  year  or  two 
later  there  was  a  young  woman — he  used  to  call  her  'the 

little  girl  '—I  don't  know  exactly Anyway,  Dad  went 

East,  there  was  some  sort  of  a  fuss,  and  I  know  Jim 
treated  her  awfully  well — there  never  was  any  question 
of  that — she  never  felt  anything  but  gratitude  to  him, 
whatever  grievances  she  had  about  any  one  else " 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  349 

His  voice  dropped. 

"  But  it's  not  the  same  thing,"  Julia  said  with  a  sigh. 

"No,  I  suppose  not/'  Richard  agreed. 

"Life  has  been  too  violent  and  too  swift  with  me," 
Julia  resumed,  after  a  while.  "If  I  had  the  past  fifteen 
years  to  live  over  again,  I  would  live  them  very  differ 
ently.  I  made  an  idol  of  Jim;  he  could  do  no  wrong. 
He  wanted  more  bracing  treatment  than  that ;  he  should 
have  been  boldly  faced  down.  If  I  had  been  wiser, 
I  would  have  treated  all  my  marriage  differently. 
If  I  had  been  very  wise,  I  should  not  have  married  at  all, 
should  have  kept  my  own  secret.  Perhaps,  marrying, 
I  should  not  have  told  him  the  truth;  I  don't  know. 
Anyway,  I  have  mixed  things  up  hopelessly,  given  other 
people  and  myself  an  enormous  amount  of  pain,,  and 
wrecked  my  life  and  Jim's.  And  now,  when  I  am  thirty, 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  begin  to  see  light,  begin  to  live — as  if 
now,  when  nothing  on  earth  seems  really  important,  I 
knew  how  to  meet  life!" 

"Well,  that's  been  my  attitude  for  some  years," 
Richie  said,  shifting  his  lame  leg  again.  "Of  course  I 
started  in  handicapped,  which  is  a  great  advantage— 

"Advantage?     Oh,  Richie!"  Julia  protested. 

"Yes,  it  is,  from  one  point  of  view,"  he  insisted 
whimsically.  "'Who  loses  his  life,'  you  know.  Most 
boys  and  girls  start  off  into  life  like  kites  in  a  high  wind 
without  tails.  There's  a  glorious  dipping  and  plunging 
and  sailing  for  a  little  while,  and  then  down  they  come 
in  a  tangle  of  string  and  paper  and  broken  wood.  I  had 
a  tail  to  start  with,  some  humiliating  deficiency  to  keep 
me  balanced.  No  football  and  tennis  for  me,  no  flirting 
and  dancing  and  private  theatricals.  When  Bab  and 
Ned  were  in  one  whirl  of  good  times,  I  was  working  out 
chess  problems  to  make  myself  forget  my  hip,  and  read 
ing  Carlyle  and  Thoreau  and  Emerson.  Nobody  is  born 
content,  Ju,  and  nobody  has  it  thrust  upon  him;  just  a 
few  achieve  it.  I  worked  over  the  secret  of  happiness  as 
if  it  was  the  multiplication  table.  Happiness  is  the  best 
thing  in  the  world.  It's  only  a  habit,  and  I've  got  it." 


350  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Is  happiness  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  Rich?" 
Julia  asked  wistfully. 

"I  think  it  is;  real  happiness,  which  doesn't  necessarily 
mean  a  box  at  the  Metropolitan  and  a  touring  car," 
Richie  said,  smiling.  "It  seems  to  me,  to  have  a  little 
house  up  here  on  the  mountain,  and  to  have  people  here 
like  me,  and  let  me  take  care  of  them " 

"For  nothing?"  interposed  Julia. 

"Don't  you  believe  it!  I  didn't  write  a  cheque  last 
month!  Anyway,  it  suits  me.  I  have  books,  and  let 
ters,  and  a  fire,  and  now  and  then  a  friend  or  two — • 
and  now  and  then  Julia  and  Anna  to  amuse  me!" 

"I'm  happy,  too,"  Julia  said  thoughtfully.  "I 
realized  it  some  time  ago — oh,  a  year  ago!  I  feel  just 
as  you  might  feel,  Rich,  if  you  had  left  some  critical 
operation  unfinished,  or  done  in  a  wrong  way,  and  then 

fone  back  to  do  it  over.     I  feel  as  if,  in  going  back  to 
rst  principles,  and  doing  what  I  could  for  my  own 
people,  I  had  'trued'  a  part  of  my  life,  if  you  can  under 
stand  that !     I  had  gone  climbing  and  blundering  on,  and 
reached  a  point  where  I  couldn't  help  myself,  but  they 
were  just  where  they  started,  and  I  could  help  them!" 
"It  was  probably  the  best  thing  you  could  have  done 
for  yourself,  at  the  same  time,"  Richard  interpolated, 
with  a  swift  glance. 

"Oh,  absolutely!"  Julia  laughed  a  little  sadly.  "I 
was  like  an  animal  that  goes  out  and  eats  a  weed :  I  had  a 
wild  instinct  that  if  I  rushed  into  my  grandmother's 
house,  and  bullied  everybody  there,  and  simply  shrieked 
and  stamped  on  the  dirt  and  laziness  and  complaining, 
on  the  whole  wretched  system  that  I  grew  up  under,  in 
short,  that  it  would  be  a  heavenly  relief!  My  dear 
Richie,"  and  Julia  laughed  again,  and  more  naturally, 
"I  wonder  they  didn't  tar  and  feather  me,  and  throw 
me  out  of  the  house!  I  scoured  and  burned  and  scolded 
and  bossed  them  all  like  a  madwoman.  I  told  them 
that  we  had  enough  money  to  keep  the  house  decently, 
and  always  had  had,  but,  my  dear!  I  never  dreamed  the 
whole  crowd  would  fall  in  line  so  soon!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  351 

" But,  my  Lord,  Julie,  what  else  could  they  do?  You 
were  paying  all  the  expenses,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  indeed  I  wasn't!  Chester  has  a  pretty  fair 
salary  now,  and  my  aunt's  boys  are  awfully  good  about 
helping  out.  And  then  Muriel  has  a  position,  and 
Evelyn  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  a  rich  woman.  Besides, 
the  mere  question  of  where  money  is  coming  from  never 
worried  my  people!  They  managed  as  well  with  almost 
nothing  at  all,  as  with  a  really  adequate  amount — which 
is  to  say  that  they  don't  know  in  the  least  what  the 
word  manage  means!  Jim  left  me  an  immense  sum, 
Rich,  but  I've  never  touched  anything  but  the  interest. 
When  we  shingled  or  carpeted  or  gardened  out  there,  we 
paid  for  it  by  degrees,  and  it  cost,  I  must  admit,  only 
about  one  third  of  what  it  would  have  been  on  the  other 
side  of  town.  I  look  back  now  at  those  first  months, 
more  than  four  years  ago,"  went  on  Julia,  smiling  as  she 
leaned  forward  in  her  low  chair,  her  hands  locked  about 
her  knees,  her  thoughtful  eyes  on  the  flickering  logs, 
"and  I  wonder  we  didn't  all  rise  up  in  the  night  and  kill 
each  other.  I  was  like  a  person  with  a  death  wound, 
struggling  madly  through  the  little  time  left  me, 
absolutely  indifferent  to  what  any  one  thought.  I 
simply  wanted  to  die  fighting,  to  register  one  furious 
protest  against  all  the  things  I'd  hated,  and  suffered,  too ! 
I  remember  reporters  coming,  at  first,  wild  with  curiosity 
to  know  what  took  Doctor  Studdiford  abroad,  and  why 
Mrs.  Studdiford  was  living  in  a  labourer's  house  in  the 
Mission.  What  impression  they  got  I  haven't  the 
faintest  idea.  Once  or  twice  women  called,  just  cu 
rious  of  course,  Mrs.  Hunter  and  Miss  Saunders — but 
that  soon  stopped.  I  was  better  hidden  on  Shotwell 
Street  than  I  would  have  been  in  the  heart  of  India! 
Miss  Saunders  came  in,  and  met  Mama  and  Grandma; 
we  were  having  the  kitchen  calcimined,  the  place  was 
pretty  well  upset,  I  remember.  Dear  me,  how  little 
what  they  thought  or  did  or  said  seemed  to  count, 
when  my  whole  life  was  one  blazing,  agonizing  cry  for 
Jim!" 


352  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"That  got  better?"  Richard  asked  huskily,  after  a 
pause. 

"Rich,  I  think  the  past  two,  well,  three  years,  have 
been  the  happiest  in  my  life,"  Julia  said  soberly.  "My 
feet  have  been  on  solid  ground.  I  not  only  seem  to 
understand  my  life  better  as  it  is,  but  all  the  past  seems 
clearer,  too.  I  thought  Jim  was  like  myself,  Richie, 
but  he  wasn't;  his  whole  viewpoint  was  different;  per 
haps  that's  why  we  loved  each  other  so ! " 

"And  suppose  he  comes  back?"  Richard  asked. 

Julia  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"Oh,  Richie,  how  do  I  know!  It's  all  so  mixed  up. 
Everybody,  even  Aunt  Sanna,  thinks  that  he  will! 
Everybody  thinks  I  am  a  patient,  much-enduring  wife, 
waiting  for  the  end  of  an  inexplicable  situation.  Aunt 
Sanna  thinks  it's  temporary  aberration.  Your  father 
thinks  there's  another  woman  in  it.  Your  mother  con 
fided  to  Aunt  Sanna  that  it  is  her  opinion  that  Bab  re 
fused  Jim,  and  Jim  married  from  pique." 

"That  sounds  like  Mother!"  Richie  said  with  a  dry 
laugh. 

"Doesn't  it?"  Julia  smiled.  "But  the  truth  is,"  she 
added,  "Jim  has  no  preconcerted  plan.  He's  made  a 
very  close  man  friend  or  two  in  Germany,  belongs  to  a 
doctors'  club.  I  know  him  so  well!  He  lets  the  days, 
and  the  weeks,  and  the  years  go  by,  forgetting  me  and 
everything  that  concerns  me  as  much  as  he  can,  and 
getting  into  a  slow,  dull  rage  whenever  he  remembers 
that  fate  hit  him,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  such  a 
blow!" 

"And  the  baby?"  said  Richie.  "Don't  you  suppose 
she  counts?  Oh,  Lord,  to  have  a  kid  of  one's  own," 
he  added  slowly,  with  the  half-smiling  sigh  Julia  knew 
so  well. 

"I  imagine  she  would  count  if  he  had  seen  her  lately," 
Julia  suggested.  "But  she  was  such  a  tiny  scrap! 
And  Jim,  as  men  go,  isn't  a  lover  of  children." 

"You  wouldn't  divorce  him,  Julie?"  Richard  asked, 
after  a  silence. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  353 

"Oh,  never!"  she  answered  quickly.  "No,  I  won't 
do  that."  She  smiled.  "Yet,  Rich,"  she  added  pres 
ently,  "it's  a  strange  thing  to  me  that  really  my  one 
dread  is  that  he  will  come  back.  I  think  he  means  noth 
ing  to  me,  yet,  if  I  saw  him — I  don't  know!  Some 
times  I  worry  for  fear  that  he  might  want  Anna,  and  of 
course  I  wouldn't  give  her  up  if  it  meant  a  dozen 
divorces." 

Richard  sat  staring  into  the  fire  for  a  few  moments; 
then  he  roused  himself  to  ask  smilingly: 

"How'd  we  get  started  on  this  little  heart  to  heart, 
anyway?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Julia  said,  smiling,  too.  "I 
couldn't  talk  of  it  for  a  long  while.  I  can't  now,  to  any 
one  but  you.  But  it  all  means  less  to  me  than  it  did. 
Jim  never  could  hurt  me  now  as  he  did  then."  She 
straightened  up  in  her  chair.  "It's  been  a  wonderful 
talk!"  she  said,  with  shining  eyes.  "And  you're  a  friend 
in  a  million,  Richie,  dear!  And  now,"  very  practically, 
"where  are  you  going  to  sleep,  my  dear?  Aunt  Sanna 
has  your  room." 

"This  couch  out  here  is  made  up!"  Richard  said, 
with  a  backward  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  room  be 
hind  him. 

"Ah,  then  you're  all  right!"  Julia  rose,  and  stopped 
behind  his  chair  for  a  moment,  to  lay  a  light  kiss  on  his 
hair.  "Good-night,  Little  Brother!"  she  said  affec 
tionately. 

Instantly  one  of  the  bony  hands  shot  out,  and  Julia 
felt  her  wrist  caught  as  in  a  vise.  Richard  swiftly 
twisted  about  and  got  on  his  own  feet,  and  for  a  minute 
their  eyes  glittered  not  many  inches, apart.  Julia  tried 
to  laugh,  but  she  was  breathing  fast. 

"Richard!"  she  said  in  a  sharp  whisper.  "What 
is  it?" 

"Julia!"  he  choked,  breathing  hard. 

For  a  long  moment  they  remained  motionless,  star 
ing,  at  each  other.  Then  Richard's  grip  on  her  wrists 
r/laxed,  and  he  sank  into  his  deep  chair,  dropped  his 


354  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

elbows  on  his  knees,  and  put  his  hands  over  his  face. 
Julia  stood  watching  him  for  a  second. 

"Good-night,  Richie!"  she  said  then,  almost  in- 
audibly. 

"Good-night!"  he  whispered  through  his  shut  fingers. 
Julia  slipped  softly  away,  closing  the  door  of  her  bedroom 
noiselessly  behind  her. 

Anna  was  asleep  in  the  upper  bed,  lying  flat  on  her 
back,  with  her  lovely  hair  falling  loosely  about  her 
flushed  little  face.  The  little  cabin  bedroom  was  as 
sweet  as  the  surrounding  woodland,  wide-open  windows 
admitted  the  fragrant  coolness  of  the  spring  night. 
There  was  no  moon,  but  the  sky  that  arched  high 
above  the  little  valley  was  thickly  spattered  with  stars. 
Richie's  cat,  a  shadow  among  paler  shadows,  leaped 
swiftly  over  the  new  grass.  Julia  got  the  milky  odour 
of  buttercups,  the  breath  of  the  little  Persian  lilac  that 
flanked  one  end  of  the  porch. 

Her  heart  was  beating  thickly  and  excitedly,  she  did 
not  want  to  think  why.  Through  her  brain  swept  a 
confusion  of  thoughts,  thoughts  disconnected  and 
chaotic.  She  tried  to  remember  just  what  words  on 
her  part — on  Richard's — had  led  to  that  strange  mad 
moment  of  revelation,  but  the  memory  of  the  moment 
itself  overleaped  all  those  preceding  it.  Julia  knelt, 
her  elbows  on  the  window  sill,  and  felt  merely  that  she 
never  wanted  to  move  again.  She  wanted  just  to  kneel 
here,  hugging  to  her  heart  the  thrilling  emotion  of  the 
moment,  realizing  afresh  that  life  was  not  dead  in  her; 
youth  and  love  were  not  dead  in  her;  she  could  still 
tremble  and  laugh  and  cry  in  the  exquisite  joy  of  being 
beloved. 

And  it  was  Richie,  so  weak  in  body,  so  powerful  in 
spirit;  so  humble  in  little  things,  so  bold  and  sure  in  the 
things  that  are  great;  not  rich  in  money,  but  rich  in  wis 
dom  and  goodness;  Richie,  who  knew  all  her  pitiful  his 
tory  now,  and  had  long  suspected  it,  who  loved  her! 
Julia  knew  even  now  that  it  was  an  ill-fated  love;  ^e 
knew  that  deep  under  this  first  strangely  thrilling  cui- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  355 

rent  of  pride  and  joy  ran  the  cold  waters  of  renunciation. 
But  cool  reason  had  little  to  do  with  this  mood;  she  was 
as  mad  as  any  girl  whose  senses  are  suddenly,  blindly, 
set  free  by  a  lover's  first  kiss. 

After  a  while  she  began  mechanically  to  undress, 
brushed  her  hair,  moved  about  softly  in  the  uncertain 
candlelight.  And  as  she  did  so  she  became  more  and 
more  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  to  say  "Good 
night"  to  Richie  again.  Neither  brain  nor  heart  was 
deeply  involved  in  this  desire,  but  some  influence, 
stronger  than  either,  urged  her  irresistibly  toward  its 
fulfilment. 

She  would  not  do  it,  of  course!  Not  that  there  was 
harm  in  it;  what  possible  harm  could  there  be  in  her 
putting  her  head  into  the  sitting-room  and  simply  say 
ing  "Good-night?"  Still,  she  would  not  do  it. 

A  glance  at  herself  in  the  dimly  lighted  mirror  set  her 
pulses  to  leaping  again.  Surely  candlelight  had  never 
fallen  on  a  more  exquisite  face,  framed  in  so  shining 
and  soft  an  aureole  of  bright  hair.  The  long  loose 
braid  fell  over  her  shoulder,  a  fine  ruffle  of  thin  linen  lay 
at  the  round  firm  base  of  her  throat.  She  was  still 
young — still  beautiful 

Anna  stirred,  sighed  in  her  sleep.  And  instantly 
Julia  had  extinguished  the  candle,  and  was  bending 
tenderly  over  the  child. 

"It's  only  Mother,  Sweet!  Are  you  warm  enough, 
dear?  You  feel  beautifully  warm!  Let  Mother  turn 
you  over — so!" 

"Is  it  morning,  Mother?"  murmured  Anna. 

"No,  my  heart!  Mother's  just  going  to  bed."  And 
ten  minutes  later  Julia  was  asleep,  her  face  as  serene  as 
the  child's  own. 

The  morning  brought  her  only  a  shamed  memory  of 
the  night  before  and  its  moods,  and  as  Richie  was  quite 
his  natural  self,  Julia  determined  to  dismiss  the  matter 
as  a  passing  moment  of  misinterpreted  sentiment  on 
both  their  parts.  To-day  was  a  Sunday,  so  perfect 


356  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

that  they  had  breakfast  on  the  porch,  and  in  the  after 
noon  took  a  long  climb  on  the  mountainside,  across 
patches  of  blossoming  manzanita,  and  through  mead 
ows  sweet  with  the  liquid  note  of  rising  larks.  They 
came  back  in  the  twilight:  Anna  limp  and  drowsy  on 
Richard's  shoulders,  Miss  Toland  admitting  to  fatigue, 
but  all  three  ready  to  agree  with  Julia's  estimate  that 
it  had  been  a  wonderful  Sunday. 

But  night  brought  to  two  of  them  that  new  and 
strange  self-consciousness  that  each  had  been  secretly 
dreading  all  day.  Julia  fought  it  as  she  might  have 
fought  the  oncoming  of  a  physical  ill,  yet  inexorably  it 
arrived.  Supper  was  an  ordeal,  she  found  speech  diffi 
cult,  she  could  hardly  raise  her  eyes. 

"Julie,  you're  as  rosy  as  a  little  gipsy,"  said  Miss  To 
land  approvingly.  "  Doesn't  colour  become  her,  Rich  ?" 

"She  looks  fine,"  Richard  muttered,  almost  inartic 
ulately.  Julia  looked  up  only  long  enough  to  give  Miss 
Toland  a  pained  and  fluttering  smile.  She  was  glad 
of  an  excuse  to  disappear  with  Anna,  when  the  little 
girl's  bedtime  arrived,  and  lingered  so  long  in  the  bed 
room  that  Miss  Toland  came  and  rapped  on  the  door. 

"Julia!  What  are  you  doing?"  called  the  older 
woman  impatiently.  Julia  came  to  the  door. 

"Why,  I'm  so  tired,  Aunt  Sanna,"  she  began  smil 
ingly. 

"Tired,  nonsense!"  Miss  Toland  said  roundly. 
"Come  sit  on  the  porch  with  Richie  and  me.  It's  like 
summer  out  of  doors,  and  there'll  be  a  moon!" 

So  Julia  went  to  take  her  place  on  the  porch  steps, 
with  a  great  curved  branch  of  the  white  rose  arching 
over  her  head,  and  the  fragrant  stretch  of  the  grassy 
hilltop  sloping  away,  at  her  feet,  to  the  valley  far  be 
low.  Miss  Toland  dozed,  and  the  younger  people  talked 
a  little,  and  were  silent  for  long  spaces  between  the  little 
casual  sentences  that  to-night  seemed  so  full  of  meaning. 

The  next  day  Julia  went  home,  to  Miss  Toland's  dis 
gust  and  to  little  Anna's  sorrow.  Richie  drove  Julia 
and  the  little  girl  to  the  train;  there  was  no  explanation 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  357 

needed  between  them;  at  parting  they  looked  straight 
into  each  other's  eyes. 

"Ask  us  to  come  again  some  day,"  Julia  said.  "Not 
too  soon,  but  as  soon  as  you  can.  And  don't  let  us  ever 
feel  that  we've  done  anything  that  will  hurt  or  distress 
you,  Richie." 

"You  and  Anna  are  both  angels,"  Richard  answered. 
"Only  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me,  Julie;  that  things 
after  this  will  be  just  as  they  were  before?" 

Julia  smiled,  and  bit  a  thoughtful  under  lip. 

"This  is  March,"  she  said.  "We'll  come  and  see  you, 
let  me  see — in  July,  and  everything  shall  be  just  as  it 
was  before!  Perhaps  I  am  really  getting  old,"  she  said 
to  herself,  half  laughing  and  half  sad,  when  she  was 
in  her  own  kitchen  an  hour  or  two  later.  "But,  while 
home  is  not  exciting,  somehow  I'd  rather  be  here  than 
philandering  on  the  mountain  in  the  moonlight  with 
Richie!" 

"What  you  smiling  about,  Julie?"  her  mother  asked, 
from  the  peaceful  east  side  of  the  kitchen  where  her 
chair  frequently  stood  while  Julia  and  Mrs.  Torney  were 
busy  in  that  cheerful  apartment. 

"Just  thinking  it  was  niceto  be  home  again,  Mama!" 

"I  don't  hold  much  with  visiting,  myself,"  said  Mrs. 
Torney,  who  was  becoming  something  of  a  philosopher 
as  she  went  into  old  age.  "But  you  can't  get  that 
through  a  young  one's  skull!"  she  added,  trimming  the 
dangling  pastry  from  a  pie  with  masterly  strokes  of  her 
knife.  "Either  you  have  such  a  good  time  that  your 
own  home  is  spoiled  for  you,  for  dear  knows  how  long, 
or  else  you  set  around  wondering  why  on  earth  you  ever 
come.  And  then  you've  got  to  have  the  folks  back  to 
visit  you,  and  wear  yourself  all  out  talking  like  all 
possessed  while  you  cook  for  'em  and  make  their  beds. 
I  don't  never  feel  clean  when  I've  washed  my  face  away 
from  home  anyway,  and  I  like  my  own  bed  under  me. 
You  couldn't  get  me  to  visit  anywheres  now,  if  it  was 
the  Queen  of  Spain  ast  me!" 

Julia  laughed  out  merrily,  and  agreed  with  her  aunt, 


358  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

glad  to  have  left  the  episode  with  Richie  behind  her. 
But  it  haunted  her  for  many  days,  nevertheless,  rising 
like  a  disturbing  mist  between  her  and  her  calm  self- 
confidence,  and  shaking  her  contented  conviction  that 
the  renunciations  necessary  to  her  peace  of  mind  had  all 
been  made.  She  found  fresh  reason  to  gird  herself  in 
circumspection  and  silence,  and  brooded,  a  little  in  dis 
couragement,  upon  the  incessantly  recurring  problems 
of  her  life. 

She  went  to  visit  the  cabin  on  Tamalpais  earlier  even 
than  she  had  promised,  however,  for  in  June  Barbara 
came  home  for  a  visit,  bringing  two  splendid  little  boys5 
with  whom  Anna  fell  instantly  in  love,  and  a  tiny  baby 
in  the  care  of  a  nurse.  Julia  spent  a  good  deal  of  her 
time  in  Sausalito  during  the  visit,  andmore  than  once  she 
and  Barbara  took  the  four  children  to  Mill  Valley,  and 
spent  a  few  days  with  Richie,  quite  as  happy  as  the  boys 
and  Anna  were  in  the  free  country  life. 

Five  years  of  marriage  had  somewhat  changed 
Barbara;  she  was  thinner,  and  freckled  rather  than  rosy, 
and  she  wore  her  thick  dark  hair  in  a  fashion  Julia  did 
not  very  much  admire.  Also  she  seemed  to  care  less 
for  dress  than  she  once  had  done,  even  though  what  she 
wore  was  always  the  handsomest  of  its  kind.  But  she 
was  an  eagerly  admiring  and  most  devoted  wife,  calmly 
assuming  that  the  bronzed  and  silent  "Francis"  could 
do  no  wrong,  and  Julia  thought  she  had  never  seen  a 
more  charming  and  conscientious  mother.  Barbara, 
whose  husband's  uncle  was  a  lord,  who  had  been  presented 
at  the  English  court,  and  whose  mail  was  peppered  with 
coats-of-arms,  nursed  her  infant  proudly  and  publicly, 
and  was  heard  to  mention  to  old  friends — not  always 
women  either — social  events  that  had  occurred  "just 
before  Geordie  came"  or  "when  I  was  expecting 
Arthur."  Her  rather  thin  face  would  brighten  to  its  old 
beauty  when  Geordie  and  Arthur,  stamping  in,  bare 
kneed  and  glowing,  recounted  to  her  the  joys  of  Sausa 
lito,  and  in  evening  dress  she  was  quite  magnificent,  and 
somehow  seemed  more  at  ease  than  American  women 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  359 

ever  do.  Her  efficiency  left  even  the  capable  Julia 
gasping  and  outdistanced.  Barbara  was  equal  to  every 
claim  husband,  children,  family,  and  friends  could 
make.  She  came  down  to  an  eight  o'clock  breakfast,  a 
chattering  little  son  on  each  side  of  her,  announcing 
briskly  that  the  tiny  Malcolm  had  already  had  his  bath. 
She  started  the  little  people  on  the  day's  orderly  round 
of  work  and  play  while  opening  letters  and  chatting 
with  her  father;  earned  the  housemaid's  eternal  affection 
by  personally  dusting  the  big  drawing-room  and  re 
placing  the  flowers;  answered  the  telephone  in  her 
pleasantly  modulated  voice;  faced  her  husband  during 
his  ten  o'clock  breakfast,  and  discussed  the  foreign  news 
with  him  in  a  manner  Julia  thought  extraordinarily 
clever;  and  at  eleven  came  with  the  baby  into  her 
mother's  sunny  morning-room  for  a  little  feminine 
gossip  over  Malcolm's  second  breakfast.  Barbara 
never  left  a  note  unanswered,  no  old  friend  was  neg 
lected;  tea  hour  always  found  the  shady  side  porch  full 
of  callers,  children  strayed  from  the  candy  on  the  centre 
table  to  the  cakes  near  the  teapot,  the  doctor's  collie  lay 
panting  in  the  doorway.  Barbara's  rich  soft  laugh,  the 
new  tones  that  her  voice  had  gained  in  the  past  years, 
somehow  dominated  everything.  Julia  felt  a  vague 
new  restlessness  and  discontent  assail  her  at  this  contact 
with  Barbara's  full  and  happy  life.  Perhaps  Barbara 
suspected  it,  for  her  generous  inclusion  of  Julia,  when 
plans ^of  any  sort  were  afoot,  knew  no  limit.  She  won 
Anna's  little  heart  with  a  thousand  affectionate  ad 
vances;  loved  to  have  the  glowing  beauty  of  the  little 
girl  as  a  foil  for  her  own  dark-haired  boys. 

"  You're  so  busy — and  necessary — and  unself-con- 
scious,  Barbara,"  Julia  said,  "you  make  other  women 
seem  such  fools!" 

It  was  a  heavenly  July  afternoon,  and  the  two  were 
following  Richie  and  the  children  down  one  of  the 
mountain  roads  above  Mill  Valley.  Barbara,  who  had 
acquired  an  Englishwoman's  love  of  nursery  picnics, 
had  lured  her  husband  to  join  them  to-day,  and  Julia  had 


360  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

been  pleasantlysurprisedto  see  howfatherly  the  Captain 
was  with  his  small  boys,  how  willing  to  go  for  water  and 
tie  dragging  little  shoe  laces.  But  presently  the  soldier 
grew  restless,  stared  about  him  for  a  few  moments, 
and  finally  decided  to  leave  the  ladies  and  children  to 
Richie's  escort,  and  walk  to  the  summit  of  the  mountan 
and  back,  as  a  means  of  working  off  some  excess  of 
energy  and  gaining  an  appetite  for  dinner.  He  ap 
parently  did  not  hear  Barbara's  warning  not  to  be 
late,  and  her  entreaty  to  be  careful,  merely  giving  her  a 
stolid  glance  in  answer  to  these  eager  suggestions,  and 
remarking  to  the  boys,  who  begged  to  accompany  him  a 
little  way :  "  Naow,  naow,  I  tell  you  you  carn't,  so  don't 
make  little  arsses  of  yourselves  blabbering  abaout  it!" 

This,  however,  was  taken  in  good  part  by  his  family; 
there  was  much  waving  of  hands  and  many  shouted 
good  wishes  as  he  walked  rapidly  out  of  hearing. 

"Poor  Francis,  I  hope  he's  going  to  enjoy  his  walk," 
Barbara  said,  as  they  started  homeward.  "He  gets  so 
bored  out  here  in  California!" 

"I  wonder  why?"  Julia  said,  hiding  a  Californian's 
resentment. 

"Oh,  well,  it  is  different,  Ju — you  can't  deny  it!  One 
wants  to  be  loyal,  and  all  that,"  Barbara  said,  "but  in 
England  there's  a  purpose — there's  a  recognized  order 
to  life!  They're  not  eternally  experimenting;  they 
don't  want  to  be  idle  and  ignorant  like  our  women — 
they've  got  better  things  to  do.  There's  a  finish  and  a 
pleasantness  about  life  in  London;  men  have  more 
leisure  to  take  an  interest  in  women's  work;  why,  you've 
no  idea  how  many  interesting,  clever,  charming  men  I 
know  in  London!  How  many  does  one  know  here? 
And  as  for  the  women — 

It  was  then  Julia  said: 

"Ah,  well,  you're  different  from  other  women. 
You're  so  busy — and  necessary — and  unself-conscious, 
Barbara.  You  make  other  women  seem  such  fools ! " 

"Not  necessarily,"  said  Barbara,  smiling.  "And 
don't  think  I'm  horribly  conceited,  Julia,  talking  this 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

way.  It's  only  to  you!"  They  walked  a  little  w^ 
without  speaking,  and  then  Barbara  sat  down  on  a  low 
bank,  some  quarter  of  a  mile  above  Richie's  cabin,  and 
added:  "Do  sit  down,  Ju.  You  and  I  are  never  alone, 
and  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  Julie,  don't  be  angry — it's 
about  Jim." 

Julia's  eyes  immediately  widened,  her  lips  met  firmly, 
she  grew  a  little  pale. 

"Go  ahead,"  she  said  steadily.  "Have  you  seen 
him?" 

Barbara  answered  the  question  with  another. 

"You  knew  he  was  in  London?" 

"No,"  said  Julia,  "I  didn't  know  it." 

She  had  remained  standing,  and  now  Barbara  urged 
her  again  to  sit  down.  But  Julia  would  not,  pleading 
that  she  would  rather  walk,  and  in  the  end  Barbara  got 
up,  and  they  began  slowly  to  walk  down  the  road  to 
gether. 

''Tell  me,"  Julia  commanded  then. 

"Now,  dearest  girl,"  Barbara  pleaded,  "please  don't 
get  excited  over  nothing.  Jim's  been  in  London  nearly 
a  year;  in  fact,  he's  settled  there.  He's  associated  with 
one  of  the  biggest  consulting  surgeons  we  have,  old  Sir 
Peveril  McCann.  They  met  in  Berlin.  I  didn't  know 
it  until  this  spring — March  it  was.  We'd  just  come  up 
from  the  country  to  meet  Francis,  home  on  a  year's 
leave;  it  was  just  before  Malcolm  arrived.  Somebody 
spoke  of  this  Doctor  Studdiford,  and  I  said  at  once  that 
it  must  be  my  foster  brother.  I  explained  as  well  as  I 
could  that  since  Francis  and  I  had  been  travelling  so 
much,  Jim  and  I  had  fallen  out  of  touch,  and  so  on." 

^Who  told  you  about  him?"  Julia  asked. 

"A  Mrs.  Chancellor.  She's  quite  a  character," 
Barbara  said.  "Some  people  like  her;  some  don't.  I 
don't — much.  She's  rich,  and  a  widow;  she  studies  art, 
and  she  loves  to  get  hold  of  interesting  people." 

Julia  winced  at  the  vision  of  a  plump,  forty-year-old 
siren  sending  coquettish  side  glances  at  an  admiring 
Jim.  Anger  stirred  dully  within  her. 


360 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 


^  "Pretty?"  she  asked,  in  as  nonchalant  a  voice  as  she 
could  command. 

"Ivy  Chancellor?  No — she's  really  plain/'  Barbara 
said,  "a  sandy,  excitable  little  chatterbox,  that's  what 
she  is!  She's  Lady  Violet  Dray's  daughter;  Lady 
Violet's  quite  lovely.  How  much  Jim  admires  Ivy  I 
can't  say;  she  took  him  about  with  her  everywhere;  he 
was  always  at  the  house." 

This  was  too  much.  Julia  felt  the  friendly  earth  sway 
under  her,  a  dry  salty  taste  was  in  her  mouth,  a  very 
hurricane  of  resentment  shook  her  heart. 

"Oh,  Barbara,  do  you  see  how  he  can?"  she  asked,  in 
a  stricken  voice. 

"No,  I  don't!"  Barbara  answered,  with  a  concerned 
glance  at  Julia's  white  face.  "Well,  as  I  know  him,  I 
can't  believe  it's  the  same  Jim!" 

"I  wish  you  had  seen  him,"  Julia  said,  after  an  in 
terval  of  thought.  Barbara  said  nothing  for  a  few 
moments,  then  she  confessed  suddenly: 

"  I  did  see  him,  Julie." 

"You  did?  Oh,  Bab,  and  you  never  told  me  all  this 
time!" 

"Well,  Mother  and  Aunt  Sanna  begged  me  not  to,  Ju, 
and  Francis  was  most  emphatic  about  it,"  Barbara 
pleaded. 

"Aunt  Sanna — and  Francis!     But "  Julia's  keen 

eyes  read  Barbara's  face  like  an  open  page.  "Then 
there  was  more  to  it ! "  she  declared.  "  For  they  couldn't 
have  minded  my  knowing  just  this!" 

"I  wish  I  had  never  mentioned  Jim,"  Barbara  said 
heartily.  "It's  none  gf  my  business,  anyway,  only- 
only — it  makes  me  so  unhappy  I  just  can't  bear  it!  I 
simply  can't  bear  it!"  And  to  Julia's  astonishment, 
Barbara,  who  rarely  showed  emotion,  fumbled  for  her 
handkerchief  and  began  to  cry.  "I  love  Jim,"  pursued 
Barbara,  with  that  refreshed  vehemence  that  follows  a 
brief  interval  of  tears.  "And  you're  just  as  dear  to  me 
as  my  own  sisters — dearer!  And  I  can't  bear  to  have 
you  and  that  darling  baby  here  alone,  and  Jim  off  in 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  363 

England  trailing  around  after  a  little  fool  like  Ivy 
Chancellor!  I  can't  bear  it,"  said  Barbara,  drying  her 
eyes,  which  threatened  to  overflow  again.  "It's  mon 
strous!  You're — you're  wonderful,  of  course,  Julie, 
but  you  can't  make  me  think  you're  happy!  And  Jim 
is  wretched.  I've  known  him  since  I  was  a  baby,  and  he 
can't  fool  me!  He  can  bluff  about  his  work  and  his  club 
and  all  that  as  long  as  he  pleases!  But  he  can't  fool 
me;  I  know  he's  utterly  miserable." 

"And  you  saw  him?"  Julia  asked. 

They  were  in  a  little  strip  of  woods  just  above 
Richard's  cabin  now,  and  Julia  seated  herself  on  the  low- 
hanging  branch  of  an  oak.  Her  face,  as  she  turned  to 
Barbara,  was  full  of  resolute  command. 

"Sit  down,  Bab,"  she  said,  indicating  a  thick  fallen 
log  a  few  feet  away.  "Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Francis  would  strangle  me,"  Barbara  murmured, 
seating  herself  nevertheless.  "And  there  isn't  very 
much  to  it,  anyway,"  she  added,  with  a  bright  air  of 
candour.  "  I  wrote  Jim  a  line,  and  he  came  to  our  house 
in  Ludbroke  Road,  and  we  had  a  little  talk.  He's 
fatter.  He  was  awfully  interested  in  some  knee-cap 
operation " 

"Babbie!"  Julia  reproached  her. 

"And  we  talked  about  everything,"  Barbara  hastened 
to  say. 
„  "Me?  "Julia  asked  flatly.  ^ 

"A  little,"  Barbara  admitted.  "I  had  nurse  bring 
the  boys  in " 

"Oh,  Barbara,  for  God's  sake  tell  me!"  Julia  said,  in 
an  agonized  burst. 

"Oh,  Julie — if  only  I'm  doing  the  right  thing!" 
Barbara  answered  in  distress. 

"This  is  the  right  thing,"  Julia  assured  her.  "This  is 
my  affair." 

"Francis  and  Mother—  Barbara  began  again, 
hesitatingly.  But  immediately  she  dismissed  the 
doubts  with  a  shake  of  her  head,  and  suddenly  assuming 
a  confident  air,  she  began:  "I'll  tell  you  exactly  what 


364  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

happened,  Ju.  Jim  came  one  afternoon;  I  was  all  alone, 
and  we  had  tea.  He's  very  much  changed,  Ju.  He's 
harder,  in  some  way,  and — well,  changed.  Jim  never 
used  to  be  able  to  conceal  his  feelings,  you  know,  but 
now — why,  one  feels  that  he's  dissembling  all  the  time! 
He  was  so  friendly,  and  cheerful,  and  interested — and 

yet There  was  something  all  wrong.  He  didn't 

exactly  evade  the  subject  of  you  and  Anna,  but  he  just 
said  ' Yes? '-or  'No?'  when  I  talked  of  you- 

"I  know  exactly  how,"  Julia  said,  wincing  at  some 
memory. 

"I  touched  him  on  the  quick  finally,"  Barbara 
pursued;  "something  I  said  about  you  made  him  colour 
up,  that  brick-red  colour  of  his 

"I  know!"  Julia  said  quickly  again. 

"But,  Julia,"  Barbara  added  earnestly,  "you've  no 
idea  how  hard  it  was!  I  told  him  how  grieved  and 
troubled  we  all  were  by  this  silence  between  you,  and  I 
went  and  got  that  snapshot  Rich  took  of  Anna,  you 
know,  the  one  with  the  collies.  Well,  way  in  the  back 
of  that  picture  you  were  snapped,  too,  the  tiniest  little 
figure,  for  you  were  way  down  by  the  road,  and  Anna 
close  to  the  porch.  But,  my  dear,  he  hardly  glanced  at 
Anna;  he  said  in  a  quick,  hushed  sort  of  voice,  '  What's 
she  in  black  for?'  Then  I  saw  your  picture  for  the  first 
time,  and  said,  'Why,  that  must  be  Julia!'  'Certainly, 
it's  Julia,'  he  said.  I  told  him  your  grandmother  had 
died,  and  he  said,  'But  she's  still  needed  there,  is  she?' 
That  was  the  first  sign  of  anything  like  naturalness. 
And,  oh,  Ju,  if  only  it  had  happened  that  Francis  didn't 
come  in  then!  But  he  did,  starving  for  his  tea,  and 
wondering  who  on  earth  the  man  that  I  was  sitting  in 
the  dark  with  was — it  was  so  unfortunate!  You  know 
Francis  thinks  we've  all  spoiled  Jim,  always,  and  he 
looked  right  over  him.  I  said, '  Francis,  you  remember 
my  brother?'  and  Francis  said,  with  a  really  insulting 
accent,  'Perfectly!'  Jim  said  something  about  liking 
London  and  hoping  to  settle  there,  and  Francis  said, 
'Studdiford,  I'm  glad  you've  come  to  see  my  wife,  and  I 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  365 

hope  the  affection  you  two  have  felt  for  years  won't  be 
hurt  by  what  I  say.  But  I  admire  your  own  wife  very 
deeply,  and  youVe  put  her  in  a  most  equivocal  and 
humiliating  position.  I  can't  pretend  that  I  hope  you'll 
settle  here;  you've  caused  the  people  who  love  you 
sufficient  distress  as  it  is.  I  don't  see  that  your  staying 
here  is  going  to  make  anything  any  easier,  while  things 
are  as  they  are  in  California! '  My  dear,"  said  Barbara 
with  a  sigh,  "Francis  gets  that  way  sometimes;  English 
people  do — there  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  moral  obligation 
upon  them  to  say  what's  true,  no  matter  how  out 
rageously  rude  it  sounds!" 

"I  had  no  idea  Captain  Fox  felt  that  way,"  Julia  said, 
touched. 

"Oh,  my  dear!  He's  one  of  your  warmest  admirers. 
Well,"  Barbara  went  on,  "of  course  Jim  ruffled  up  like  a 
turkey  cock.  I  didn't  dare  say  anything,  and  Francis, 
having  done  his  worst,  was  really  pretty  fair.  Luckily, 
some  other  people  came  in,  and  later  I  went  with  Jim  to 
the  nursery.  Then  he  said  to  me,  'Do  you  think  Julia's 
position  is  equivocal,  Bab?'  And  I  said,  'Jim,  I  never 
knew  any  one  to  care  so  little  for  public  opinion  as  Julia. 
But  all  the  rumour  and  gossip,  the  unexplained  mystery 
of  it,  are  very,  very  hard  for  her.'  I  said,  'Jim,  aren't 
you  going  back  ? '  and  he  said,  '  Never.'  Then  he  said,  '  I 
think  Francis  is  right.  This  way  is  neither  one  thing 
nor  the  other.  It  ought  to  be  settled.  Not,'  he  said, 
'that  I  want  to  marry  again!'  I  said,  'Jim,  you  couldn't 
marry  again,  don't  talk  that  way!'  He  said  something 
about  my  clinging  to  old  ideas,  and  I  said,  'Jim,  don't 
tell  me  you  have  given  up  your  faith?'  He  said,  very 
airily,  T'm  not  telling  you  anything,  my  dear  girl,  but  if 
the  law  will  set  me  free,  perhaps  that's  the  best  way 
of  silencing  Francis's  remarks  about  Julia's  equivocal 
position!" 

Julia  was  silent  for  a  while,  staring  beyond  Barbara, 
her  eyes  like  those  of  a  sick  person,  her  face  ashen. 
Barbara  began  to  feel  frightened. 

"So  that's  it,"  Julia  said  finally,  in  a  tired,  cold  voice. 


366  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"  Ju — it's  too  dreadful  to  hurt  you  this  way ! "  Barbara 
said.  "But  that's  not  all.  The  only  reason  I  told  you 
all  this  was  because  Jim  may  be  coming  home;  he  may 
come  on  in  October,  and  want  to  see  you.  Francis 

thinks But  it  seems  too  cruel  to  let  him  come  on  and 

take  you  by  surprise!" 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  Julia,  in  a  low,  tense  tone, 
"what  utter  wreck  I  have  made  of  my  life!  Why  is  it," 
she  said,  springing  up  and  beginning  to  walk  again, 
"why  is  it  that  I  am  so  helpless,  why  must  I  sit  still  and 
let  the  soul  be  torn  out  of  my  body!  My  child  must 
grow  up  fatherless — under  a  cloud " 

"Julie!  Julie!"  Barbara  begged,  wild  with  anxiety, 
as  she  kept  pace  beside  Julia  on  the  dry  brown  grass. 
"Dearest,  don't,  or  you'll  make  me  feel  terribly  for 
having  told  you!" 

"Oh,  no — no,"  Julia  said,  suddenly  calm  and  weary. 
"You  had  to  tell  me!"  The  two  walked  slowly  on  for  a 
moment,  in  silence,  then  Julia  added  passionately:  "Oh, 
what  a  wretched,  miserable  business!  Oh,  Bab,  why  do 
I  simply  have  to  go  from  one  agony  to  another?  I'm  so 
tired  of  being  unhappy;  I'm  so  wretched!"  Her  voice 
fell,  the  fire  went  out  of  her  tone.  "  I'm  tired,"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  Barbara  curiously  in  keeping 
with  the  flat,  toneless  summer  twilight,  the  dull  brown 
hills,  the  darkening  sky,  the  dry  slippery  grass  over 
which  a  cool  swift  breeze  was  beginning  to  wander.  "  If 
Anna  and  I  could  only  run  away  from  it  all!"  said  Julia 
sombrely. 

"Julie,  just  one  thing."  Barbara  hesitated.  "Shall 
you  see  Jim?" 

Julia  paused,  and  their  eyes  met  in  the  gloom.  Bar 
bara  thought  she  had  never  seen  anything  more  marked 
than  the  tragic  intensity  of  the  other  woman's  face. 
Julia  might  have  been  a  young  priestess,  the  problems  of 
the  world  on  her  shoulders. 

"That  I  can't  say,  Bab,"  she  answered  thoughtfully. 
And  a  moment  later  they  reached  the  cabin,  and  were 
welcomed  by  Richie  and  the  children. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  WAS  in  late  September  that  the  mail  brought  her  a 
note  from  Jim.  Julia's  heart  felt  a  second  of  paralyzing 
cramp  as  she  put  her  hand  on  the  letter;  she  read  its 
dozen  lines  in  a  haze  of  dancing  light;  the  letters  seemed 
to  swim  together. 

Jim  wrote  that  he  was  at  home  for  a  few  days,  and  was 
most  anxious  to  see  her,  and  to  have  a  talk  that  would 
be  of  advantage  to  them  both.  For  obvious  reasons, 
her  home  was  not  suitable;  would  she  suggest  a  time  and 
place?  He  was  always  hers  faithfully,  James  Studdi- 
ford. 

Anna,  glowing  and  delicious,  was  leaning  against 
Julia's  shoulder  as  Julia  read  and  reread  the  little 
document.  The  mother  looked  down  obliquely  at  the 
little  rose-leaf  face,  the  blue,  blue  eyes,  the  fresh,  firm, 
baby  mouth. 

"When  I  am  a  grown-up  girl,"  Anna  said,  with  her 
sweet,  mysterious  smile,  "I  shall  have  letters,  and  I  will 
write  answers,  and  write  the  envelopes,  too!  And  I'll 
write  you  letters,  Mother,  when  you  go  'way  and  leave 
me  with  Grandma!" 

"Will  you?"  asked  Julia,  rubbing  the  child's  soft 
cheek  with  her  own. 

"Every  day!"  Anna  said.  "Who's  writing  you  with 
that  cunning  little  owl  on  the  paper,  Mother?" 

"That's  the  Bohemian  Club  owl,"  Julia  evaded, 
giving  Anna  only  one  fair  look  at  him  before  she  closed 
the  letter.  She  went  to  her  desk,  and  swiftly,  un 
hesitatingly,  wrote  her  reply.  Jim  must  excuse  her,  she 
could  not  see  the  advantage  of  their  meeting,  she  would 
much  prefer  not  to  see  him.  Briskly  rubbing  her  blotter 
over  the  flap  of  the  sealed  envelope,  she  had  a  vision  of 

367 


368  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

him,  interrupting  his  evening  of  talk  with  old  friends  to 
scratch  off  the  note  to  her,  and  felt  that  she  detested  him. 

An  unhappy  week  followed,  in  which  Julia  had  time 
to  /eel  that  almost  any  consequences  would  have  been 
easier  to  bear  than  the  unassailable  wall  of  silence  and 
misgiving  and  doubt  that  hemmed  her  in.  Constant 
nervous  terrors  weakened  her  spiritually  and  bodily,  and 
she  could  not  bear  to  have  Anna  for  one  moment  out  of 
her  sight.  Mrs.  Page  and  Mrs.  Torney  saw  notice  in 
the  papers  of  Jim's  return,  and  suspected  the  cause  of 
this  new  agitation  in  Julia,  but  neither  dared  attempt  to 
force  her  confidence. 

"Men  are  the  limit!"  said  Mrs.  Torney  to  her  sister, 
one  day  when  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  kitchen. 
"As  I've  said  before,  it's  a  great  pity  there  ain't  nothing 
else  to  do  but  marry,  and  nothing  to  marry  but  men! 
It's  awful  to  think  of  the  hundreds  of  women  who  spend 
their  happiest  hours  going  about  doing  the  housework, 
and  planning  just  what  they'd  do  if  their  husbands  was 
to  be  taken  off  suddenly!  Some  girls  can  set  around 
until  they're  blue  moulded,  and  never  a  feller  to  ask 
'em,  and  others  the  boys'll  fret  and  pleg  until  they're  fit 
to  be  tied,  with  nerves !  Evvy  you  couldn't  marry  off  if 
she  was  Cleopatra  on  the  Nile,  and  poor  Julia  could  hang 
smallpox  flags  all  over  her,  and  every  man  in  the  place'd 
want  her  jest  the  same!  He  wants  her  back,  you  see  if 
he  doesn't!" 

"I  don't  know  that  he  does,"  said  Emeline,  knitting 
needles  flashing  slowly  in  her  crippled  fingers.  "  Maybe 
that's  the  trouble." 

"What'd  he  come  on  for,  then?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Torney.  "Jest  showing  off,  is  he?  Or  is  it  another 
woman  ?  The  only  difference  between  men  reely  seems 
to  be  that  some  wear  baggy  pants  and  own  up  to  being 
sultans,  and  others  don't!"  She  spread  her  fingers  in 
side  the  stocking  she  was  darning,  and  eyed  it  severely. 
"The  idea  of  a  man  with  a  five-year-old  girl  sashaying 
round  the  country  this  way  is  ridiculous,  to  begin  with," 
said  she  indignantly. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  369 

"Has  Ju  seen  him?"  asked  Mrs.  Page. 

"No,  I'm  pretty  sure  she  hasn't,"  Mrs.  Torney  an 
swered.  "She  acks  more  like  she  was  afraid  to,  than 
like  she  ackshally  had.  She'd  be  real  relieved  to  start 
fighting,  but  just  now  she's  like  a  hen  that  gets  its 
chickens  under  its  wings,  and  looks  up  and  round  and 
about,  and  don't  know  whether  it's  a  hawk  or  a  fox  or  a 
man  with  a  knife  that's  after  her! " 

"  I  don't  believe  Julie  hates  him,"  said  her  mother.  "  I 
think  she'd  go  back  to  him,  if  only  for  Anna's  sake — if  it 
seemed  best  for  Anna." 

"For  that  matter,  she'd  go  keep  house  for  the  gorilla 
at  the  Chutes  if  it  seemed  best  for  Anna!"  Mrs.  Torney 
concluded  sagely. 

It  was  only  a  day  or  two  later  that  the  telephone  rang, 
and  Julia,  answering  it,  as  she  always  did  now,  with  chill 
foreboding  in  her  heart,  heard  Barbara's  voice. 

"Julie,  dear,  is  it  you?  Darling,  we  want  you  right 
away.  It's  Dad,  Julie — he's  terribly  ill!"  Barbara's 
voice  broke.  "  He's  terribly  ill ! " 

"What  is  it?"  Julia  asked,  tense  and  pale. 

"Oh,  we  don't  know!"  Barbara  gasped.  "Julie — we 
— and  Mother's  quite  wonderful!  Con's  coming  right 
away,  Janey's  here,  and  we've  wired  Ted." 

"Barbara,  is  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

"I'm  afraid  so!"  And  again  tears  choked  Barbara. 
"Of  course  we  don't  know.  He  fell,  right  here  in  the  gar 
den.  Think  if  he'd  been  on  the  road,  Julie,  or  in  the 
street.  That  was  the  first  thing  Mother  said.  Mother's 
too  wonderful!  Richie  was  here,  they  carried  him  in. 
And  he  wrote  Con's  and  Ted's  and  your  name  on  a  piece 
of  paper.  We  saw  he  was  trying  to  say  something,  and 
gave  him  the  paper,  and  that's  what  he  wrote!  And 
Aunt  Sanna  in  New  York!" 

Stricken,  and  beginning  torealize  for  the  first  time  what 
an  empty  place  would  be  left  in  the  Sausalito  group  when 
the  kindly  old  doctor  was  gone,  Julia  hastily  dressed 
herself  for  the  hurried  trip.  She  must  see  Jim  now; 
there  was  a  sort  of  dramatic  satisfaction  in  the  thought 


370  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

that  he  must  know  the  accident  of  their  meeting  at  last 
to  be  none  of  her  contriving.  And  she  would  see  Richie, 
too;  her  heart  fluttered  at  the  thought.  She  sat  on  the 
boat,  dreamily  watching  the  gray  water  rush  by,  dreamily 
ready  for  whatever  might  come.  The  day  was  dull  and 
soft;  boat  whistles  droned  all  about  them  on  the  bay; 
from  Alcatraz,  shouldering  through  an  enveloping  fog, 
came  the  steady  ringing  of  a  brass  gong. 

Long  drifts  of  fog  had  crept  under  the  trees  in  the 
Toland  garden,  the  rose  bushes  were  beaded  with  fine 
mist,  the  eaves  dripped  steadily.  Julia  began  to  be 
shaken  with  nervous  anticipation  of  the  moment  when 
she  must  meet  Jim.  Would  he  meet  her  at  the  door, 
or  would  they  deliberately  arrange — these  loyal  brothers 
and  sisters — that  the  dreaded  moment  should  not  come 
until  they  were  all  about  her?  She  gave  a  quick  ner 
vous  glance  about  the  big  hallway  when  a  tearful  maid 
admitted  her.  But  it  was  only  Barbara  who  came  for 
ward,  and  Barbara's  first  word  was  that  Jim  and  Richie 
were  not  there;  Dad  had  sent  both  on  errands.  "His 
mind  is  absolutely  clear,"  said  Barbara  shakenly.  She 
herself  was  waiting  for  an  important  telephone  call,  and 
occasionally  pressing  a  folded  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 
The  two  women  kissed,  with  sudden  tears  on  both  sides, 
before  Julia  went  noiselessly  upstairs.  Constance  and 
Theodora  were  in  their  mother's  room,  Mrs.  Toland 
with  them.  The  mother  had  been  crying,  and  was  now 
only  trying  to  muster  sufficient  self-control  to  reenter 
the  sickroom  without  giving  the  beloved  patient  alarm. 
Julia's  entrance  was  the  signal  for  fresh  tears;  but  they 
all  presently  brightened  a  little,  too,  and  Julia  persuaded 
Mrs.  Toland  to  drink  a  cup  of  hot  soup,  "the  very  first 
thing  she's  touched  all  day!"  said  all  the  girls  fondly. 

Only  Janey  was  with  the  invalid  when  Julia  went  into 
the  sickroom,  a  silent,  white-faced  Janey,  who  stared  at 
Julia  with  sombre  eyes.  The  doctor  lay  high  in  pillows, 
looking  oddly  boyish  in  his  white  nightgown  in  spite 
of  his  gray  hair.  A  fire  flickered  in  the  old-fashioned 
polished  iron  grate;  outside  the  window  twilight  and  the 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  371 

fog  were  mingling.  The  room  had  some  unfamiliar 
quality  of  ordered  emptiness  already,  as  if  life's  high 
way  must  be  cleared  for  the  coming  of  the  great  De 
stroyer. 

Julia  knelt  down  by  the  bed  and  laid  her  hand  over 
the  old  man's  hand.  To  her  surprise  he  opened  his  eyes. 
They  moved  from  her  face  to  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  as 
if  he  had  lost  count  of  time,  and  had  not  expected  her  so 
soon. 

"How  are  you,  Dad?"  she  said,  with  infinite  tender 
ness. 

"He's  better,"  Janey  answered.  "Aren't  you,  dar 
ling  ?  You  look  better ! " 

The  doctor's  look,  with  its  old  benevolent  twinkle, 
went  from  one  girl's  face  to  the  other. 

"Know — too — much!"  he  said,  with  difficulty,  in  his 
eyes  the  innocent  triumph  of  the  child  who  will  not  be 
deceived.  Quite  unexpectedly,  Julia  felt  her  lip  tremble, 
tears  brimmed  her  eyes.  The  invalid  saw  them,  felt  one 
drop  hot  on  his  hand. 

"No — no — no!"  he  said,  with  pitying  gentleness. 
And,  with  great  effort,  he  added,  "Seen — Jimmy?" 

"Not  yet,"  stammered  Julia,  shaken  to  her  very  soul. 

The  doctor  shut  his  eyes,  his  fingers  still  clinging  to 
Julia's.  After  perhaps  two  full  minutes  of  silence,  he 
whispered: 

"  Be  good  to  Jimmy,  Julia!     Be  good  to  him." 

Julia  could  not  answer.  Barbara  found  her,  in  her 
own  room,  half  an  hour  later,  crying  bitterly.  It  was 
then  quite  dark.  The  two  had  a  long  talk,  ended  only 
when  Constance  came  flying  in.  Dad  seemed  better, 
much  brighter,  was  asking  for  Richie,  wanted  to  know  if 
Ned  had  come. 

Constance  and  Barbara  went  back  to  the  sickroom, 
and  Julia  went  downstairs  to  find  them.  She  entered 
the  almost  dark  library,  where  Richie  and  Ned  were 
sitting  before  the  fire.  There  was  some  one  with  them; 
Julia  knew  in  an  instant  who  it  was.  Her  heart  began 
to  hammer,  her  breath  failed  her.  A  murmur  of  friendly 


372  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

low  voices  ended  with  her  entrance;  the  three  dim  forms 
rose  in  the  gloom. 

"Con?"  asked  Richie.  Julia  touched  a  wall  switch, 
and  the  great  lamp  on  the  centre  table  bloomed  into 
sudden  light. 

"No,  it's  Julia — they  want  you,  Rich,"  she  said, 
"and  you,  too,  Ned.  Con  says  he's  much  brighter.  He 
asked  for  you  both." 

"Hello,  dear,  I  didn't  know  you  were  here,"  Richie 
said  affectionately,  kindly  eyes  on  her  face»  "  But  you 
mustn't  cry,  Ju!"  he  added  gently. 

"I — -I  saw  him,"  Julia  said,  mingled  emotions  making 
speech  almost  impossible.  "Isn't  there  any  hope, 
Richie?" 

"None  at  all,"  Jim  said,  leaving  the  fireplace  to 
quietly  join  Julia  and  Richie  at  the  centre  table. 

The  unforgotten  voice!  Every  fibre  in  Julia's  body 
thrilled  to  mortal  shock.  She  rallied  her  courage  and 
endurance  sternly;  she  must  not  betray  herself.  Anger 
helped  her,  for  she  knew  him  well  enough  to  know  that 
the  situation  for  him  was  not  devoid  of  a  certain  artistic 
enjoyment. 

"Yes,  it  may  come  to-night,  it  may  come  to-morrow," 
Richie  assented  sorrowfully.  "But  it's  the  end,  I'm 
afraid!" 

Julia  clung  to  his  arm;  never  had  Richie  seemed  so 
dear  and  good  to  her. 

"Your  mother  will  die  of  it,  Rich,"  she  said,  to  say 
something.  The  room  seemed  to  her  shouting  with 
Jim's  presence;  she  kept  her  eyes  on  Richie's  face.  Ned, 
never  more  than  an  overgrown  boy,  put  his  face  in  his 
hands  and  began  to  sob. 

"Sh — h!"  Jim  warned  them.     Mrs.  Toland  came  in. 

"He's  better — he  wants  to  see  you  boys!"  she  said, 
tremulously  happy.  Her  eyes  went  from  face  to  face. 
"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  she  demanded.  "You 
don't  think  it's — do  you,  Richie?  Do  you,  Jim?" 

Richie  merely  flung  up  his  head  and  set  his  lips.  Jim 
put  one  arm  around  her. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  373 

"He's  pretty  ill,  dear,"  he  said  gently,  and  Julia 
found  his  smooth  tenderness  infinitely  less  bearable  than 
Richie's  bluntness. 

"Why,  but  what  are  you  talking  about — what  do  you 
mean — I  don't  know  what  you  mean!"  Mrs.  Toland 
said  bewilderedly.  "  Doctor  Barr  has  gone  home,  Richie; 
he  said  he  wouldn't  come  back  unless  we  sent  for  him!" 
No  one  answered  her,  and  as  her  pitiful  look  went  from 
Julia's  grave  face  to  Richard's  sorrowful  one,  from  Ned's 
despairing  figure  by  the  fire  to  Jim's  troubled  look, 
terror  seemed  to  seize  her.  Her  pretty  middle-aged  face 
wrinkled;  she  began  to  cry  bitterly. 

Julia  put  her  in  a  deep  chair,  knelt  before  her,  trying 
rather  to  calm  than  to  comfort  her,  and  after  a  while  so 
far  succeeded  that  she  could  take  the  poor  shaken  old 
lady  upstairs.  She  did  not  glance  again  at  Jim,  al 
though  he  opened  the  door  for  them,  and  tried  his  best 
to  catch  her  eye. 

Between  five  and  six  o'clock  he  was  summoned  to  the 
sickroom.  They  were  all  there :  the  girls  on  their  knees, 
Richard  kneeling  by  his  father,  his  fingers  on  the  failing 
pulse.  Mrs.  Toland  was  seated,  Julia  kneeling  beside 
her,  holding  both  her  cold  hands.  A  sound  of  subdued 
sobbing  filled  the  air;  no  sound  came  from  the  dying 
man  except  when  a  fluttering  breath  raised  his  chest. 
His  eyes  were  shut;  he  appeared  to  be  sleeping. 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  six,  and  as  if  roused, 
Doctor  Toland  stirred  a  little,  and  whispered,  "Janey!" 
Poor  Janey's  head  went  down  against  the  white  counter 
pane;  she  never  dreamed  that  the  little-girl  aunt,  dead 
fifty  years  ago,  with  apple  cheeks  under  a  slatted  sun- 
bonnet,  and  more  apples  in  her  lunch  bag,  had  come  in  a 
vision  of  old  orchard  and  sun-bathed  river,  to  put  her 
warm  little  hand  in  her  brother's  again,  and  lead  him 
home.  And  before  the  clock  struck  again,  Robert 
Toland,  with  not  even  a  twitch  of  his  kind  old  face,  went 
smiling  away  from  earth  in  a  dream  of  childhood,  and 
Richie,  with  a  finger  on  the  silent  pulse,  and  Jim,  with  a 
hand  on  the  silent  heart,  had  said  together:  "Gone!" 


374  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

An  hour  later  Jim,  standing  thoughtful  at  an  upper 
window,  looked  down  to  see  Richie  bring  the  runabout  to 
the  front  door.  Down  the  steps  came  Barbara,  bare 
headed,  and  Julia,  in  her  wide  black  hat  and  flying  veil. 
The  three  talked  for  a  few  moments  together,  the  light 
from  the  open  hall  door  falling  on  their  faces;  then  Julia 
got  into  the  car.  She  leaned  out  to  say  some  last  word 
to  Barbara,  her  face  composed  and  sweetly  grave,  then 
turned  to  Richie,  and  they  were  gone. 

Jim  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  analyze  his  own 
emotion.  Something  in  that  look  toward  Barbara,  so 
brave  and  quiet,  so  bright  with  some  inward  serenity, 
stirred  his  heart.  He  went  downstairs  to  meet  Barbara 
in  the  hall. 

"Where's  Rich?"  asked  Jim,  in  the  hushed  voice  that 
had  supplanted  all  the  usual  noise  and  gayety  of  the 
house. 

"He'll  be  right  back,"  Barbara  said  apathetically. 
"He's  driving  Julie  to  the  boat." 

For  some  reason  Jim's  heart  sank.  He  had  supposed 
them  as  performing  only  some  village  errand,  at  the 
florist's,  the  drug  store,  or  the  post  office.  A  certain 
blank  fell  upon  his  spirits;  Julia  had  her  grievance,  of 
course,  but  she  seemed  singularly  indifferent  to  the — 
well,  the  appearances  of  things! 

But  Julia,  alone  on  the  boat,  could  have  laughed  in 
the  joy  of  escape,  in  the  new  sense  of  freedom  on  which 
she  seemed  to  float.  Above  all  her  sympathy  for  the 
family  she  so  deeply  loved,  and  above  the  sorrow  of  her 
own  very  real  personal  loss,  rose  the  intoxicating  con 
viction  that  Jim's  sway  over  heart  and  soul  was  gone; 
he  was  no  longer  godlike;  no  longer  mysteriously 
powerful  to  hurt  or  to  enchant  her;  he  was  just  a  hand 
some  man  nearing  forty,  not  particularly  interesting,  not 
noticeably  magnetic,  not  remarkable  in  any  way. 

She  caught  the  welcoming  Anna  to  her  heart  when 
she  reached  the  Shotwell  Street  house,  telling  her  sad 
news  to  the  others  over  the  child's  little  shoulder.  But 
the  kisses  she  gave  her  daughter  were  inspired  by  joy 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  375 

instead  of  sorrow,  and  Julia  lay  down  to  sleep  that  night 
with  a  new  content,  and  slept  as  she  had  not  slept  for 
months.  With  a  confidence  amounting  almost  to  in 
difference  she  faced  Jim  on  the  day  of  the  old  doctor's 
funeral,  her  beauty  absolutely  startling  in  its  setting  of 
demure  black  veil  and  trailing  sombre  garments. 

Jim  watched  her,  some  curious  emotion  that  was  com 
pounded  of  resentment  and  jealousy  and  astonishment 
darkening  his  face.  So  dignified,  so  poised,  so  strangely, 
hauntingly  lovely  she  seemed,  so  much  in  demand  and 
so  quietly  equal  to  all  demands.  Jim  flattered  his 
vanity  for  a  while  with  the  assurance  that  she  was  trying 
to  impress  as  well  as  evade  him,  but  could  not  long 
preserve  the  illusion;  there  was  no  acting  there. 

"Julia,"  he  said,  when  they  were  all  at  home  again 
after  the  funeral,  "I  want  to  see  you  alone  for  a  few 
moments,  if  I  may?" 

Julia  was  in  the  dining-room,  busy  with  a  great  sheaf 
of  letters.  She  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  chair  which 
Barbara  had  filled  only  a  moment  ago,  as  if  realizing  for 
the  first  time  that  she  had  been  left  alone. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  dryly  and  unencouragingly. 

Jim  sat  down,  leaned  back,  folded  his  arms,  and 
looked  at  her  steadily,  in  a  manner  that  might  have  been 
confusing.  But  Julia  went  on  serenely  opening,  reading, 
and  listing  her  letters. 

"  I  want  to  ask  how  you  are  getting  on,  Julie,"  said  Jim 
at  last,  in  a  hurt  tone.  "  I  want  to  know  if  there  is  any 
thing  in  the  world  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you!"  Julia  said  pleasantly.  "Fi 
nancially,  I  am  very  comfortable.  You  left  me  I  don't 
know  how  many  thousands  in  the  Crocker.  I've  never 
had  one  second's  worry  on  that  score,  even  though 
I've  never  touched  the  capital — as  you  can  easily  find 


out.' 


"My  dear  girl,  do  you  think  for  one  second  I  doubt 
you ! "  Jim  said  uncomfortably.  "You've  been  perfectly 
wonderful  to  do  it,  only  you  must  have  scrimped  your 
self!  But  it  wasn't  about  that.  Surely,  Julia,  you  and 


376  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

I  have  things  more  important  to  say  to  each  other,"  he 
added  reproachfully. 

"I  don't  know  what's  more  important  than  money," 
she  assured  him  whimsically.  "Of  course  I  didn't  want 
to  use  it  at  all;  I  should  have  preferred  to  be  self- 
supporting  at  any  cost,"  she  went  on.  "  But  there  was 
Anna  and  Mama  to  consider.  And  more  than  that, 
there  was  your  name,  Jim;  I  didn't  want  to  start  every 
one  talking  of  the  straits  to  which  your  wife  had  been 
reduced." 

"Oh,  for  God's  sake!"  Jim  growled.  "Don't  let's 
talk  of  money." 

"That  was  all  I  meant  to  say,"  Julia  said  politely. 
"Is  Mother  lying  down?"  she  added  naturally.  Jim 
jerked  his  whole  body  impatiently. 

"I  think  she  is!"  he  snapped.     Julia  opened  a  letter. 

"Isn't  that  a  pretty  hand?"  she  asked.  "English — 
it's  Mrs.  Lawrence,  the  Consul's  wife.  What  pretty 
hands  English  people  write!" 

"  You've  changed  very  much,"  Jim  observed,  after  a 
sulphurous  silence. 

"  I  have  ? "  Julia  asked  naively.     "  In  what  way  ? " 

"Why  didn't  you  want  to  see  me?" 

"Oh "  Julia  laid  the  letter  down,  and  for  the  first 

time  gave  him  her  full  attention.  "I've  changed  my 
mind  about  that,  Jim,"  she  said  frankly.  "I  thought  at 
first  that  it  was  an  unwise  thing,  but  I  feel  differently 
now.  Of  course  you  know,"  continued  Julia,  with 
pretty  childish  gravity,  "that  for  me  there  can  be  no 
consideration  of  divorce;  I  shall  never  be  any  other 
man's  wife,  and  never /be  free.  But  if,  as  Bab  says,  you 
have  come  to  feel  that  you  want  something  different, 
and  if  you  have  drifted  so  far  from  your  religion  as  to 
feel  that  a  legal  document  can  undo  what  was  solemnly 
done  in  the  name  of  God,  why  then  I  shan't  oppose  it. 
You  can  call  it  desertion  or  incompatibility,  I  don't  care." 

"Who  said  I  wanted  a  divorce?"  Jim  demanded,  in 
his  ugliest  tone.  His  face  was  a  dull,  heavy  red,  and 
veins  swelled  on  his  forehead. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  377 

"My  life  is  full  and  happy,"  Julia  pursued  ^con 
tentedly,  paying  no  attention  to  his  question.  "I'm 
not  very  exacting,  as  you  know.  Mama  needs  me,  and 
I  have  everything  I  want." 

"You  talk  very  easily  of  divorce,"  Jim  said,  in  an 
injured  tone,  after  a  pause.  "  But  is  it  fair  to  have  it  all 
arranged  before  I  say  a  word  ? " 

Julia's  answer  was  only  a  look — a  full,  clear,  level  look 
that  scorched  him  like  a  flame;  her  cheeks  above  the 
black  of  her  gown  burned  scarlet;  she  was  growing  angry. 

Jim  played  with  an  empty  envelope  for  a  few  minutes, 
fitting  a  ringer  tip  to  each  corner  and  lifting  it  stiffly. 
Presently  he  dropped  it,  folded  his  arms,  and  rested  them 
on  the  table. 

"This  is  a  serious  matter,"  he  said  gravely.  "And 
we  must  think  about  it.  But  you  must  forgive  me  for 
saying  that  it  is  a  great  shock  to  come  home  and  find 
you  talking  that  way,  Julie.  I — God  knows  I'm  bad 
enough,  but  I  don't  think  I  deserve  quite  this!"  added 
Jim  gently. 

A  long  interval  of  silence,  for  Julia  a  busy  interval, 
followed. 

"When  am  I  going  to  see  Anna?"  Jim  asked,  end 
ing  it. 

"Whenever  you  want  to,"  Julia  said  pleasantly. 
"I've  familiarized  her  with  your  picture;  she'll  be 
friendly  at  once;  she  always  is.  Some  day,  when  you 
are  going  to  be  here,  I'll  send  her  over  for  the  day.  She 
loves  Sausalito,  and  I  really  believe  she'd  do  poor 
Mother  good." 

"And  when  shall  I  come  and  see  you — to  talk  about 
things?"  Jim  asked  humbly. 

"My  dear  Jim,"  Julia  answered  briskly,  "I  cannot 
see  the  need  of  our  meeting  again;  I  think  it  is  most 
unwise — just  a  nervous  strain  on  both  sides.  What 
have  we  to  discuss?  I  tell  you  that  I  am  perfectly  will 
ing  to  let  you  have  your  way.  It's  too  bad,  it's  a  thing 
I  detest — divorce;  but  the  whole  situation  is  unfortu 
nate,  and  we  must  make  the  best  of  it!" 


378  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Jim's  stunned  amazement  showed  in  a  return  of  his 
sullen  colour  and  the  fixed  glassy  look  in  his  eyes. 

"What  will  people  think  of  this,  Ju?  Every  one  will 
have  to  know  it — it  will  make  a  deuce  of  a  lot  of  talk!" 
he  said,  trying  to  scare  her. 

Julia  shook  her  head,  with  just  a  suggestion  of  a 
smile. 

"Much  less  than  you  think,  Jim,"  she  answered  sen 
sibly.  "Society  long  ago  suspected  that  something 
was  wrong;  the  announcement  of  a  divorce  will  only 
confirm  it." 

"We'll  have  the  whole  crowd  of  them  buzzing  about 
our  heads,"  Jim  said,  determined  to  touch  her  serenity 
by  one  phase  or  another. 

"Oh,  no,  we  won't!"  Julia  returned  placidly.  "The 
only  circumstances  under  which  there  would  have  been 
buzzing  would  have  been  if  I  had  tried  to  keep  my  place 
in  society.  I  dropped  out,  and  they  let  me  go  without 
a  murmur.  No  buzzing  from  San  Francisco  society 
ever  reaches  Shotwell  Street,  and  as  for  you,  you'll  be 
in  London." 

"How  do  you  know  I'll  be  in  London?"  Jim  growled, 
utterly  nonplussed. 

Julia  gave  him  a  bright  look  over  a  letter,  but  did  not 
answer,  and  the  man  fell  to  worrying  an  envelope  again. 
Moments  passed,  the  autumn  twilight  fell,  Julia  began 
to  stack  her  letters  in  neat  piles. 

Presently  she  quietly  rose,  and  quietly  left  the  room, 
without  a  word,  without  a  backward  glance.  Jim  sat 
on  in  the  dusk,  staring  moodily  ahead  of  him,  his  eyes 
half  shut,  the  fingers  of  one  big  hand  drumming  gently 
on  the  table. 

A  few  days  later  he  went  out  to  Shotwell  Street  to  see 
her.  Julia  met  him  very  quietly,  and  presented  the 
little  Anna  with  the  solicitous  interest  in  the  child's 
manner  that  she  would  have  shown  had  Jim  been  any 
casual  friend.  Anna,  who  was  lovely  in  a  pale  pink 
cotton  garment  a  little  too  small  for  her,  looked  seri- 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  379 

pusly  at  her  father,  submitted  to  his  kisses,  her  wonder 
ing  eyes  never  moving  from  his  face,  and  wriggled  out 
of  his  arms  as  soon  as  she  could. 

u  My  God !  She's  beautiful,  isn't  she  ? "  said  Jim,  un 
der  his  breath. 

"She  looks  very  nice  when  she's  clean  and  good," 
Julia  agreed  practically,  kissing  Anna  herself. 

"'My  God's'  a  bad  word,"  Anna  said  gravely  to  her 
father,  "isn't  it,  Mother?" 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  hear  you  say  it,"  Julia  answered. 
"Now  trot  out  to  Aunt  Regina,  dear,  and  ask  her  to  give 
you  your  lunch.  Mother'll  be  there  immediately." 

"She's  exquisite,"  Jim  said,  when  the  child  was  gone. 
"You  all  over  again,  Ju!" 

"  She's  smarter  than  I  was.  Julia  smiled  dispassion 
ately.  "I've  taught  her  to  read — simple  things,  of 
course;  she  writes  a  little,  and  does  wonders  with  her 
numerical  chart.  She's  very  cunning,  she  has  an 
unusual  little  mind,  and  occasionally  says  something 
that  proves  she  thinks!" 

A  silence  followed.  Sunshine  was  streaming  into  the 
sitting-room;  nasturtiums  bloomed  in  Julia's  window 
boxes;  the  net  curtains  fanned  softly  to  and  fro  in  the 
soft  autumn  air.  In  the  city,  a  hundred  whistles  shrilled 
for  noon. 

"I  hardly  knew  the  place,"  Jim  said,  searching  for 
something  to  say.  "You've  made  it  over — the  whole 
block  looks  better!" 

"Gardens  have  come  into  fashion,"  Julia  explained; 
"the  Mission  is  a  wonderful  place  for  gardens.  And  the 
change  in  my  mother  is  more  marked,"  she  went  on, 
with  perfunctory  pleasantness;  "you  would  hardly 
know  her.  She  is  much  thinner,  of  course,  but  so 
bright  and  contented,  and  so  brave!" 

"I  am  going  to  meet  her,  I  hope?"  Jim  suggested. 
Julia  looked  troubled. 

"I  hardly  see  how,"  s4ie  said  regretfully.  "As  things 
are  I  can't  exactly  ask  you  to  lunch,  Jim.  It  would  be 
most  unnatural,  and  they — they  look  to  me  for  a  cer- 


380  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

tain  principle,"  she  went  on.  "They  know  what  these 
four  years  have  meant  for  me;  I  couldn't  begin  now  to 
treat  the  whole  thing  casually  and  cheerfully." 

"I  don't  expect  you  to,"  Jim  said  quickly.  "Fm 
not  taking  this  lightly.  I  only  want  to  think  the 
thing  well  over  before  any  step  is  taken  that  we  might 
regret." 

Again  Julia  answered  him  with  only  a  tolerant,  bright 
look.  She  stood  up  and  busied  herself  with  the  potted 
fern  that  stood  on  the  centre  table,  breaking  off  dead 
leaves  and  gathering  them  into  the  palm  of  her  hand. 
Jim,  feeling  clumsy  and  helpless,  stood  up,  too.  And 
as  he  watched  her,  a  sudden  agony  of  admiration  broke 
out  in  his  heart.  Her  head  was  bent  a  little  to  one  side, 
as  if  the  weight  of  the  glorious  braids  bowed  it;  her 
thick  lashes  hid  her  eyes;  her  sweet,  firm  mouth  moved  a 
little  as  she  broke  and  straightened  the  fern.  Where 
the  wide  collar  of  her  checked  gown  was  turned  back  at 
her  throat,  a  triangle  of  her  soft  skin  showed,  as  white 
and  pure  as  the  white  of  daisy  petals;  her  firm  young 
breast  moved  regularly  under  the  fresh  crisp  gingham; 
the  folds  of  her  skirt  were  short  enough  to  show  her 
slender  ankles  and  square-toed  sensible  low  shoes  tied 
with  wide  bows. 

"You  used  not  to  be  so  cold,  Julie,"  Jim  said,  baffled 
and  uncomfortable. 

"I  am  not  cold,"  she  answered  mildly.  "I  never 
was  a  very  demonstrative — never  a  very  emotional  per 
son,  I  think.  Three  years  ago — two  years  ago,  even — 
I  would  have  gone  on  my  knees  to  you,  Jim,  begged  you 
to  come  back,  for  Anna's  sake  as  well  as  my  own.  But 
that  time  has  gone  by.  This  life,  I've  come  to  see,  is 
far  better  for  Anna  than  any  child  in  our  old  set  leads, 
and  for  me — well,  I'm  happy.  I  never  was  so  happy, 
or  busy,  or  necessary,  in  my  life,  as  I  am  now." 

"Do  you  mean  that  there's  no  chance  of  a  reconcilia 
tion?"  Jim  asked  huskily.  Julia  gave  him  a  glance  of 
honest  surprise. 

"Jim,"  she  asked  crisply,  "do  you  mean  that  you 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  381 

came  on  with  the  hope  of  a  reconciliation?     I  thought 
you  told  Barbara  something  very  different  from  that!" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  came  on  for.  I  wish  Barbara 
would  mind  her  own  business,"  said  Jim,  feeling  himself 
at  a  disadvantage. 

"  My  dear  Jim,"  Julia  said  with  motherly  kindness,  "  I 
know  you  so  well !  You  came  on  here  determined  to  get 
a  divorce,  you  want  to  be  free,  you  may  already  have 
in  mind  some  other  woman!  But  I've  hurt  your  feel 
ings  by  making  it  all  easy  for  you — by  coming  over  to 
your  side.  You  wanted  a  fuss,  tears,  protests,  a  con 
vulsion  among  your  old  friends.  And  you  find,  instead, 
that  all  San  Francisco  takes  the  situation  for  granted, 
and  that  I  do,  too.  I've  made  my  own  life,  I  have 
Anna,  and  more  than  enough  money  to  live  on;  you  have 
your  freedom;  every  one's  satisfied." 

"That's  nonsense  and  you  know  it!"  Jim  exclaimed 
angrily.  "There's  not  one  word  of  truth  in  it!"  He 
began  to  pull  on  his  gloves,  a  handsome  figure  in  his 
irreproachable  trim  black  sack  suit  with  low  oxfords 
showing  a  glimpse  of  gray  hose,  and  an  opal  winking  in 
his  gray  silk  scarf.  "There's  absolutely  no  reason  in  the 
world  why  you  should  consider  yourself  as  more  or  less 
than  my  wife,"  he  said.  "There's  no  object  in  this  sort 
of  reckless  talk.  We've  been  separated  for  a  few  years;  it's 
no  one's  business  but  our  own  to  know  why!" 

"Oh,  Jim — Jim!"  Julia  said,  shaking  her  head. 

"Don't  talk  that  way  to  me!"  he  said  fiercely.  "I 
tell  you  I'm  serious!  It's  all  nonsense — this  talk  of 
divorce!  Why,"  he  came  so  near,  and  spoke  in  so  men 
acing  a  tone,  that  Julia  perforce  lifted  her  eyes  to  his, 
"this  situation  isn't  all  of  my  making,"  he  said.  "I've 
not  been  ungenerous  to  you!  Can't  you  be  generous  in 
your  turn,  and  talk  the  whole  thing  over  reasonably?" 

"I  can't  see  the  advantage  of  talking!"  Julia  answered 
in  faint  impatience. 

"No,  because  you  want  it  your  own  way,"  said  Jim. 
"You  expect  me  to  give  up  my  child  completely,  you  re 
fuse  me  even  a  hearing,  you  won't  discuss  it!" 


382  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"But  what  do  you  want  to  discuss?"  protested  Julia. 
"The  whole  situation  is  perfectly  clear — we  shall  only 
quarrel!" 

How  well  she  knew  the  look  he  gave  her,  the  hurt  look 
of  one  whose  sentiment  is  dashed  by  cool  reason!  He 
suddenly  caught  her  by  the  shoulders. 

"Look  here,  Julia!" 

"Ah,  Jim,  please  don't!"  She  twisted  in  a  vain  at 
tempt  to  escape  his  grip. 

"Please  don't  what?" 

"Don't— touch  me!" 

Jim  dropped  his  hands  at  once,  stepped  back,  with  a 
look  of  one  mortally  hurt. 

"Certainly  not — I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said  punc 
tiliously.  He  took  up  his  hat.  "When  do  I  see  you 
again,  Julia  ?  Will  you  dine  with  me  to-morrow  ?  Then 
we  can  talk." 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  Julia  said,  after  reflection. 

"Have  you  another  engagement?" 

"  Certainly  not ! "  There  was  almost  a  flash  of  amuse 
ment  in  her  face;  her  glance  toward  the  kitchen  spoke 
volumes  for  the  nature  of  her  engagements. 

"Why  do  you  say  no,  then?"  asked  Jim. 

"Because  I  prefer  not  to  do  so,"  Julia  answered,  with 
sudden  spirit.  "We  look  at  this  thing  very  differently, 
Jim,"  she  added  roundly.  ;'To  me  it  is  a  tragedy — the 
saddest  thing  that  ever  happened  in  my  life;  that  you 
and  I  should  have  loved  each  other,  and  should  be  less 
than  nothing  to  each  other  now!  It's  like  a  sorrow, 
something  shameful,  to  hide  and  to  forget.  For  years 
I  was  haunted  by  the  horror  of  a  divorce,  Jim;  I  never 
wrote  to  you,  I  never  begged  you  to  come  back,  just  be 
cause  I  was  afraid  of  it!  I  used  to  say  to  myself  in  the 
first  awful  weeks  in  this  house:  ' Never  mind — it  isn't 
as  if  we  were  divorced;  we  may  be  separated, ^we  may 
be  estranged,  but  we  are  still  man  and  wife!"  Tears 
came  to  Julia's  eyes,  she  shook  her  head  as  if  to  shake 
them  away.  "I've  hungered  for  you,  Jim,  until  it 
seemed  as  if  I  must  go  mad!"  she  went  on,  looking  far 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  383 


beyond  him  now,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  rapt  voice  as  il 
to  herself.     "I've  felt,"  she  said,  "as  if  I'd  die  for  jusi 


if 

just 

one  more  kiss  from  you,  die  just  to  have  you  take  my 
big  coat  off  once  more,  and  catch  me  in  your  arms,  as 
you  used  to  do  when  we  came  back  from  dinner  or  the 
theatre!  But  one  can't  go  on  suffering  that  way,"  said 
Julia,  giving  him  a  swift,  uncertain  smile,  "and  grad 
ually  the  pain  goes,  and  the  fever  dies  away,  and  noth 
ing  is  left  but  the  cold,  white  scar!" 

Jim  had  been  staring  at  her  like  a  man  in  a  trance. 
Now  he  took  a  step  toward  her,  lightly  caught  her  in 
one  big  arm. 

"Ah,  but  Julia,  wouldn't  the  love  come  back?"  he 
asked  tenderly,  his  face  close  to  her  own.  "Couldn't  it 
all  be  forgotten  and  forgiven?  You've  suffered,  dear, 
but  I've  suffered,  too.  Can't  we  comfort  each  other?" 

"Please  don't  do  that,"  Julia  said  coldly,  wrenching 
herself  free.  "This  is  no  whim  with  me;  I'm  not 
following  a  certain  line  of  conduct  because  it's  most 
effective.  I've  changed.  I  don't  want  to  analyze  and 
dissect  and  discuss  it;  as  I  say,  it  seems  to  me  too  sacred, 
too  sad,  to  enjoy  talking  about!" 

" You've  not  changed!"  Jim  asserted.  "Women 
don't  change  that  way." 

"Then  I'm  not  like  other  women,"  Julia  said  hotly. 
"Do  believe  me,  Jim.  It's  all  just  gone  out  of  my  life. 
You  don't  seem  like  the  man  I  loved,  who  was  so  sweet 
and  generous  to  me.  I've  not  forgotten  that  old 
wonderful  time;  I  just  don't  connect  you  with  it.  You 
could  kiss  me  a  thousand  times  now,  and  it  would  only 
seem  like — well,  like  any  one  else!  I  look  at  you  as  one 
might  look  on  some  old  school  friend,  and  wonder  if  I 
ever  really  loved  you!" 

She  stopped,  looking  at  him  almost  in  appeal.  Jim 
stood  quite  still,  staring  fixedly  at  her;  they  remained  so 
for  a  long  minute. 

"I  see,"  he  said  then,  very  quietly.     "I'm  sorry." 

And  without  another  word  he  turned  to  the  hall  door 
and  was  gone.  Julia  stood  still  in  the  hall  for  a  few 


384  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

minutes,  curiously  numb.  All  this  was  very  terrible, 
very  far  reaching  in  its  results,  very  important,  but  she 
could  not  feel  it  now.  She  did  feel  very  tired,  exhausted 
in  every  fibre  of  her  body,  confused  and  weary  in  mind. 
She  put  her  head  in  the  kitchen  door  only  long  enough  to 
say  that  she  was  not  hungry,  and  went  upstairs  to  fling 
herself  on  her  bed,  grateful  for  silence  and  solitude  at 
last. 

To  Jim  the  world  was  turned  upside  down.  He 
could  hardly  credit  his  senses.  His  was  not  a  quick 
brain;  processes  of  thought  with  him  were  slow  and  ru 
minative;  he  liked  to  be  alone  while  he  was  thinking. 
When  he  left  Julia  he  went  down  to  his  club,  found  a 
chair  by  a  library  window,  and  brooded  over  this  un 
expected  and  unwelcome  turn  of  events,  viewing  from  all 
angles  this  new  blow  to  his  pride.  He  did  not  believe 
her  protestations  of  a  change  of  heart,  nothing  in  his 
life  tended  to  make  such  a  belief  easy.  But  her  coldness 
and  stubbornness  hurt  him  and  upset  the  plans  he  had 
been  allowing  to  form  of  late  in  his  mind. 

All  his  life  he  had  been  following,  with  sunny  adapt 
ability,  the  line  of  the  least  resistance.  Thrown  out  of 
his  groove  by  the  jealousy  and  resentment  of  the  dark 
time  in  his  married  life,  Jim  had  realized  himself  as 
fairly  cornered  by  Fate,  and  had  run  away  from  the 
whole  situation  rather  than  own  himself  beaten.  Rather 
than  admit  that  he  must  patiently  accept  what  was  so 
galling  to  his  pride,  he  had  seized  upon  any  alternative, 
paid  any  price. 

And  Germany  had  not  been  at  all  unpleasant.  There 
was  novelty  in  every  phase  of  his  home  and  public  life; 
there  was  his  work;  and,  for  at  least  the  first  year,  there 
was  the  balm  for  his  conscience  that  he  would  soon 
be  going  home  to  Julia.  He  had  allowed  himself  the 
luxury  of  moods,  was  angry  with  her,  was  scornful,  was 
forgiving.  He  showed  new  friends  her  beautiful  pictures 
— told  them  that  she  was  prettier  than  that,  no  picture 
could  do  justice  to  her  colour. 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  385 

Among  the  new  friends  there  had  been  two  sweet  plain 
Englishwomen:  the  widowed  Lady  Eileen  Hungerford, 
and  her  sister,  the  Honourable  Phyllis.  These  had  found 
the  rich  young  American  doctor  charming,  and  with 
out  a  definite  word  or  look  had  managed  to  convey  to 
him  the  assurance  of  their  warmest  sympathy.  They 
could  only  guess  at  his  domestic  troubles,  but  a  hundred 
little  half  allusions  and  significant  looks  lent  spice  to  the 
friendship,  and  Jim  became  a  great  favourite  in  the 
delightful  circle  the  Englishwomen  had  drawn  about 
them. 

The  midsummer  vacation  was  spent,  with  another 
doctor,  in  Norway,  and  in  September  Jim  went  for  a 
week  or  two  to  London,  where  Eileen  and  Phyllis, 
delicately  considerate  of  the  possible  claims  of  the  un 
known  wife,  nevertheless  persuaded  him  that  he  would 
be  mad  to  decline  the  offer  of  the  big  German  hospital. 
So  back  to  Berlin  he  went,  and  in  this  second  winter 
met  old  Professor  Sturmer,  and  Senta,  his  wife. 

Senta  was  a  Russian,  the  tiniest  of  women,  wild, 
beautiful,  nineteen.  She  was  a  most  dramatic  and  ap 
pealing  little  figure,  and  she  knew  it  well.  She  smoked 
and  drank  just  as  the  young  men  of  her  set  did,  she 
danced  like  a  madwoman,  she  sang  and  rode  and  skated 
with  the  fury  of  a  witch.  She  was  like  a  child,  over 
dressed,  overjewelled,  her  black  hair  fantastically  ar 
ranged;  always  talking,  always  unhappy,  a  perfect  type 
of  the  young  female  egotist.  She  liked  to  use  reckless 
expressions,  to  curl  herself  up  on  a  couch,  in  a  room 
dimly  lighted,  and  scented  with  burning  pastilles,  and 
discuss  her  marriage,  her  age,  her  appearance,  her  effect 
upon  other  women.  Senta's  was  an  almost  pathetic  and 
very  obvious  desire  to  be  considered  daring,  pantherine, 
seductive,  dangerous. 

Jim,  fancying  he  understood  her  perfectly,  played 
into  her  hand.  He  would  not  flirt  with  her,  but  he  took 
her  at  her  own  valuation,  and  they  saw  a  good  deal  of 
each  other.  Senta  confessed  to  him,  read  him  love 
Otters,  wrote  him  dashing,  penitent  little  notes,  and  Jim 


386  THE  STORY  OF  JtFLIA  PAGE 

scolded  her  in  a  brotherly  way,  laughed  at  her,  and 
sometimes  delighted  her  by  forbidding  her  to  do  this  or 
that,  or  by  masterfully  flinging  some  cherished  note  or 
photograph  of  hers  into  the  fire.  He  loved  to  hear  her 
scold  her  maid  in  Russian;  it  seemed  to  him  very  cunning 
when  this  stately  gipsy  of  a  child  took  her  seat  in  her  box 
at  the  opera,  or  flung  herself  into  the  carriage,  later, 
all  the  more  a  madcap  because  of  three  hours  of  playing 
the  lady.  He  exchanged  smiling  looks  over  her  little 
dark  head  with  her  husband,  when  he  dined  at  the 
Sturmers';  the  good  professor  was  far  more  observing 
than  was  usually  supposed;  he  knew  more  of  Jim's 
character,  it  is  probable,  than  Jim  did  himself;  he  knew 
that  Senta  was  quite  safe  with  the  young  American,  and 
he  liked  him. 

But  Senta,  who  was  quite  unscrupulous,  was  slow  to 
realize  it.  She  found  this  brotherly  petting  and  scolding 
very  well  for  a  time,  but  months  went  by,  a  whole  year 
went  by,  and  there  was  no  change  in  their  relationship. 
Senta  was  only  precocious,  she  was  neither  clever  nor 
well  educated;  she  based  her  campaign  on  the  trashy 
novels  she  read,  and  deliberately  set  herself  to  shake  Jim 
from  his  calm  pleasure  in  her  society. 

Then,  suddenly,  Jim  was  bored.  Charm  dropped 
from  her  like  a  rich,  enveloping  cloak,  and  left  only  the 
pitiful  little  nude  personality,  a  bundle  of  childish 
egotisms  and  shallow  pretences.  Once  he  had  been 
proud  to  escort  her  everywhere,  now  her  complacent 
assumption  that  he  should  do  so  annoyed  him;  once  he 
had  laughed  out  heartily  at  her  constant  interruption  of 
the  old  professor,  her  naive  contention  that  she  was 
never  to  be  for  one  second  ignored;  now  she  only  worried 
him,  and  made  him  impatient.  Her  invitations  poured 
upon  him,  her  affectedly  deep  voice,  reproachful  or 
alluring,  haunted  his  telephone.  She  challenged  him 
daringly,  wickedly,  across  dinner  tables,  or  from  the 
centre  of  a  tea-table  group,  to  say  "why  he  didn't  like 
her  any  more?" 

Jim  went  to  Italy,  and  Senta,  chaperoned  by  her 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  387 

sister-in-law,  a  gaunt  woman  of  sixty,  went,  too,  turning 
up  at  his  hotels  with  the  naughty  grace  of  a  spoiled  child, 
sure  to  be  welcome.  She  eyed  him  obliquely,  while 
telling  him  that  "people  were  beginning  to  talk/'  She 
laughed,  with  a  delight  that  Jim  found  maddening,  when 
they  chanced  to  meet  some  friends  from  Berlin  in  a 
quiet  side  street  in  Rome.  Jim  cut  his  vacation  short, 
and  went  back  to  work. 

This  angered  Senta  for  the  first  time,  and  perhaps 
began  to  enlighten  her.  She  came  sulkily  back  to 
Berlin,  and  began  to  spread  abroad  elaborate  accounts 
of  a  quarrel  between  Jim  and  herself.  Jim  so  dreaded 
meeting  her  that  he  quite  gave  up  everything  but  men's 
society,  but  he  could  not  quite  escape  from  the  knowl 
edge  that  the  affair  was  discussed  and  criticised. 

And  at  this  most  untimely  moment  old  Professor 
Sturmer  died,  leaving  a  somewhat  smaller  fortune  to  his 
little  widow  than  she  had  expected,  and  naming  his 
esteemed  young  friend,  Herr  Doctor  Studdiford,  as  her 
guardian  and  his  executor.  This  again  gave  Senta  the 
prominence  and  picturesqueness  she  loved;  to  Jim  it 
was  a  most  deplorable  mischance;  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  acquitted  himself  of  his  bare  duty  in  the  matter, 
his  distaste  for  his  young  ward  growing  stronger  every 
moment.  For  weeks  there  was  no  hour  in  which  he 
was  not  made  exquisitely  uncomfortable  by  her  attitude 
of  chastened  devotion;  eventually  the  hour  came  in 
which  he  had  to  stab  her  pride,  and  stab  deep.  It  was 
an  ugly,  humiliating,  exasperating  business,  and  when  at 
last  it  was  over,  Jim  found  himself  sick  of  Berlin,  and 
yet  sullenly  unready  to  go  home  to  California,  as  if  he 
had  failed,  as  if  he  were  under  even  so  faint  a  cloud. 

Just  then  came  a  letter  from  Eileen,  another  from 
Phyllis.  Wasn't  he  ever  coming  to  London  any  more? 
London  was  waiting  to  welcome  him.  They  had  opened 
their  little  house  in  Prince's  Gate,  the  season  was  be 
ginning,  it  was  really  extraordinarily  jolly.  Did  he 
know  anything  of  the  surgeon,  Sir  Peveril  McCann  ?  He 
had  said  such  charming  things  of  Doctor  Studdiford.  He 


388  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

had  said — but  no,  one  wasn't  going  to  tell  him  anything 
that  might,  untold,  make  him  curious  enough  to  come! 

Jim  went  to  London,  revelling  in  clear  English  speech 
after  years  of  Teutonic  gutturals,  and  rejoicing  in  the 
clean,  clear-cut  personalities  with  which  he  came  in 
contact.  He  loved  the  wonderful  London  drawing- 
rooms,  the  well-ordered  lives,  the  atmosphere  of  the 
smart  clubs  and  hotels,  the  plays  and  pictures  and  books 
that  were  discussed  and  analyzed  so  inexhaustibly. 

He  found  Eileen  and  Phyllis  more  charming  than 
ever;  and  he  very  much  admired  their  aunt,  stately 
Lady  Violet  Dray,  and  their  bright,  clever,  friendly 
cousin  Ivy,  who  was  as  fresh  and  breezy  as  the  winds 
that  blew  over  her  native  heather.  Ivy  was  slender 
and  vivacious;  her  face  was  thin  and  a  little  freckled, 
and  covered  with  a  fine  blond  down,  which  merged  on 
her  forehead  into  the  straight  rise  of  her  carrot-coloured 
hair.  Her  eyes  were  sharply  blue,  set  in  thick,  short, 
tawny  lashes.  She  was  an  enthusiastic  sportswoman, 
well  informed  on  all  topics  of  the  day,  assured  of  her 
position  and  sure  of  herself,  equally  at  home  in  her  rid 
ing  tweeds  and  mud-splashed  derby,  and  the  trailing 
satin  evening  gowns  that  left  her  bony  little  shoulders 
bare,  and  were  embellished  by  matchless  diamonds  or 
pearls.  There  was  no  sentiment  in  her,  her  best  friends 
were  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages,  but  she  attached  Jim 
to  her  train,  patronized  and  bullied  him,  and  they  became 
good  friends. 

Mrs.  Chancellor  talked  well,  and  talked  a  great  deal, 
and  she  stimulated  Jim  to  talk,  too.  Never  in  his  life 
had  so  constant  a  demand  been  made  upon  his  con 
versational  powers;  and  every  hour  with  her  increased 
his  admiration  for  Ivy  and  lessened  his  valuation  of  his 
own  wisdom.  She  was  a  thorough  Englishwoman,  con 
sidering  everything  in  life  desirable  only  inasmuch  as  it 
was  British.  Toward  America  her  attitude  was  one  of 
generous  laughter  touched  with  impatience.  She  never 
for  one  moment  considered  seriously  anything  American. 
Mrs.  Chancellor  thought  all  of  it  really  too  funny — 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  389 

"rarely  too  fenny,"  as  she  pronounced  it.  Only  one 
thing  made  her  more  angry  than  the  defence  of  anything 
American,  and  that  was  dispraise  of  anything  British. 
The  history  of  England  was  sacred  to  her:  London  was 
the  crown  and  flower  of  the  world's  civilization;  English 
children,  English  servants,  English  law,  were  all  alike 
perfect,  and  she  also  had  her  country's  reverence  for 
English  slang,  quoting  and  repeating  it  with  fondest 
appreciation  and  laughter.  Nothing  pleased  her  more 
than  to  find  Jim  unfamiliar  with  some  bit  of  slang  that 
had  been  used  in  England  for  twenty  years;  her  laughter 
was  fresh  and  genuine  as  she  explained  it,  and  for  days 
afterward  she  would  tell  her  friends  of  his  unfamiliarity 
with  what  was  an  accepted  part  of  their  language. 

She  took  him  to  picture  galleries,  bewildering  him 
with  her  swift  decisions.  Jim  might  come  to  a  stand 
before  a  portrait  by  Sargent. 

"Isn't  this  wonderful,  Ivy  Green?"  It  was  his  own 
name  for  her,  and  she  liked  it. 

"That?"  A  sweeping  glance  would  appraise  it. 
"Yes,  of  course,  it's  quite  too  extraordinary,"  she 
would  concede  briskly.  "An  impossible  creature,  of 
course;  one  feels  that  he  was  laughing  at  her  all  the  time 
— it's  not  his  best  work,  rarely!"  And  she  would  drag 
Jim  past  forty  interesting  canvases  to  pounce  upon 
some  obscure,  small  painting  in  a  dark  corner.  "There!" 
she  would  say  triumphantly,  "isn't  that  astonishing! 
So  kyawiously  frank,  if  you  know  what  I  mean?  It's  most 
amazing — his  sense  of  depth,  if  you  know  what  I  mean? 
Rarely,  to  splash  things  on  in  that  way,  and  to  grasp  it." 
A  clawed  little  hand  would  illustrate  grasping.  "It's 
astonishing!" 

Jim,  staring  at  a  picture  of  some  sky,  some  beach,  and 
a  face  of  rock,  would  murmur  a  somewhat  h  rwildered 
appreciation,  looking  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  at  the 
same  time,  at  the  attractive  gondolier  singing  to  his 
pretty  lady  passengers,  on  the  right,  or  the  nice  young 
peasant  nursing  her  baby  in  a  sunny  window  while  her 
mother  peeled  apples,  on  the  left. 


390  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Of  course,  it's  the  only  thing  here,  this  year,  abso 
lutely  the  only  one,"  Mrs.  Chancellor  would  conclude. 
"The  rest  is  just  one  huge  joke.  I  know  Artie  Holloway 
—Sir  Arthur,  he  is — quite  well,  and  I  told  him  so! 
He's  a  director." 

"But  I  don't  see  how  you  know  so  much  about  it!" 
Jim  would  say  admiringly. 

"One  must  know  about  such  things,  my  dear  boy," 
she  always  answered  serenely.  "One  isn't  an  oyster, 
after  all!" 

It  was  this  dashing  lady  and  not  Barbara  who  first 
brought  Jim's  mind  to  a  sense  of  his  own  injustice  to 
Julia,  or  rather  to  a  realization  that  the  situation,  as  it 
stood,  was  fair  to  neither  Julia  nor  himself.  Not  that  he 
ever  mentioned  Julia  to  Ivy;  but  she  knew,  of  course,  of 
Julia's  existence,  and  being  a  shrewd  and  experienced 
woman  she  drew  her  own  conclusions.  One  day  she  ex 
pressed  herself  very  frankly  on  the  subject. 

"You've  taken  the  rooms  above  Sir  Peveril's,  eh?" 
she  asked  him. 

"Well,  yes,"  Jim  answered,  after  a  second's  pause. 
"They're  bully  rooms!" 

"Oh,  rather — they're  quite  the  nicest  in  town,"  she 
stated.  "But,  I  say,  my  dear  boy,  wasn't  the  rent 
rather  steep?" 

"Not  terrible."  He  mentioned  it.  "And  I've  taken 
'em  for  five  years,"  he  added. 

"For — eh?"  She  brought  her  sandy  lashes  together 
and  studied  him  through  them.  "You're  rarely  going 
to  stay  then,  you  nice  child?" 

"Yes,  Grandmother  dear.  Sir  Peveril  wants  me. 
I've  taken  his  hospital  work;  people  are  really  extraor 
dinarily  kind  to  me!"  Jim  summarized. 

"Oh,  you've  been  vetted,  there's  no  question  of  that," 
she  agreed  thoughtfully.  They  were  at  tea  in  her  own 
drawing-room,  which  was  crowded  with  articles  hand 
some  and  hideous,  Victorian  lace  tidies  holding  their 
own  with  really  fine  old  furniture,  and  exquisite  bits  of 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  391 

oil  or  water  colour  sharing  the  walls  with  old  steel  en 
gravings  in  cumbersome  frames.  Now  Ivy  leaned  back 
in  her  chair,  and  stirred  her  tea,  not  speaking  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"There's  just  one  thing,"  she  said  presently.  "Be 
fore  you  come  here  to  stay,  put  your  house  in  order. 
Don't  leave  everything  at  haome  in  a  narsty  mess  that'll 
have  to  be  straightened  aout  later,  if  you  know  what  I 
mean?  Get  that  all  straight,  and  have  it  understood, 
d'ye  see?" 

The  colour  came  into  Jim's  face  at  so  unexpected  an 
attack,  yet  speech  was  a  relief,  too. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  can  straighten  it  out,"  he 
confessed,  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"It's  not  a  divorce,  eh?" 

"No — not  exactly." 

"The  gell's  gone  home  to  her  people?" 

"Yes."     Jim  cleared  his  throat.     "Yes,  she  has." 

"And  there's  a  kiddie?" 

"Anna— yes." 

"Well,  now."  Mrs.  Chancellor  straightened  in  her 
chair,  set  her  cup  down  on  a  nearby  table.  "I  take  it 
the  gell  was  the  injured  one,  eh?"  said  she. 

Jim  was  a  little  surprised  to  find  himself  enjoying  this 
cross-examination  immensely. 

"Well — no.  She  had  no  definite  cause  to  feel  in 
jured,"  he  said.  "We  quarrelled,  and  I  came  away  in 
a  hurry— 

"What,  after  a  first  quarrel?" 

"No — o.     It  had  been  going  on  a  long  time." 

"Is  the  cause  of  it  still  existing?"  Mrs.  Chancellor 
asked  in  a  businesslike  way,  after  a  pause. 

"Well— yes." 

"Can't  be  removed,  eh?     It's  not  religion?" 

"It's  an  old  love  affair  of  hers,"  Jim  admitted.  The 
lady's  eyes  twinkled. 

"And  you're  jealous?"  she  smiled.  But  immedi 
ately  her  face  grew  sober.  "I  see — she  still  cares  for 
him,  or  imagines  she  does/'  she  said. 


392  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Jim  felt  it  safest  to  let  this  guess  stand. 

"Of  course,  if  she  won't  she  won't,"  pursued  Mrs. 
Chancellor  comfortably.  "But  the  best  thing  you 
could  do  would  be  to  bring  her  on  here!" 

Jim  shook  his  head  sullenly  and  set  his  jaw. 

"She  won't,  eh?"  asked  the  lady,  watching  him 
thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  that,"  Jim  persisted  stubbornly. 

"You  don't  want  to?"  She  meditated  this.  "Yet 
she's  young,  and  beautiful,  and  presentable?"  she 
asked,  nodding  her  own  head  slowly  as  he  nodded  af 
firmatives.  "Yes,  of  course.  Well,  it's  too  bad.  One 
would  have  liked  to  meet  her,  take  her  about  a  bit.  And 
it  would  help  you  more  than  any  one  thing,  my  dear 
boy.  Oh,  don't  shake  your  head!  Indeed  it  would. 
However,  you  must  be  definite,  one  way  or  the  other. 
You  must  either  admit  outright  that  you're  divorced, 
or  you  must  tell  an  acceptable  story.  As  it  is — one 
doesn't  know  what  to  say — whether  she's  impossible 
in  some  way — just  what  the  matter  is,  if  you  know  what 
I  mean?" 

"I  see,"  Jim  said  heavily. 

"Go  have  a  talk  with  her,"  commanded  Mrs. 
Chancellor  brightly.  "Finish  it  up,  one  way  or  an 
other.  You're  doing  her  an  injustice,  as  it  is,  and 
you're  not  just  to  yourself.  One  can't  shut  a  marriage 
up  in  a  box,  you  know,  and  forget  it.  There's  always 
leakage  somewhere — much  better  make  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  thing!  You're  not  the  first  person  who's 
made  an  unfortunate  early  marriage,  you  know!" 

"I  loved  my  wife,"  said  Jim,  in  vague,  resentful  self- 
defence.  "I'm  naturally  a  domestic  man.  I  loved 
my  little  girl— 

"Certainly  you  did,"  Mrs.  Chancellor  interrupted 
crisply.  "And  perhaps  she  did,  too!  The  details  are 
all  the  same,  you  know.  Some  people  make  a  success 
of  the  thing,  some  people  fail.  I've  been  married.  I'm 
a  little  older  than  you  are  in  years,  and  ages  older  in 
experience — I  know  all  about  it.  In  every  marriage 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  393 

there  are  the  elements  of  success,  and  in  every  one  the 
makings  of  a  perfectly  justifiable  divorce.  Some 
women  couldn't  live  with  a  saint  who  was  a  king  and  a 
Rothschild  into  the  bargain;  others  marry  scamps  and 
are  perfectly  happy  whether  they're  being  totally  ig 
nored  or  being  pulled  around  by  the  hair!  But  if 
you've  made  a  failure,  admit  it.  Don't  sulk.  You'll 
find  that  doing  something  definite  about  it  is  like  clean 
ing  the  poison  out  of  a  wound ;  you'll  feel  better !  There, 
now,  you've  had  your  scolding,  and  you've  taken  it  very 
nicely.  Ring  for  some  hot  water,  and  we'll  talk  of  some 
thing  else!" 

On  just  this  casual,  kindly  advice  Jim  really  did  go 
home,  prepared  to  be  very  dignified  with  Julia;  and  to 
make  the  separation  definite  and  final,  if  not  legal,  or 
to  bring  her  back,  however  formally,  as  his  wife,  exactly 
as  he  saw  fit. 

And  then  came  the  meeting  in  the  Toland  library, 
when  in  one  stunning  flash  he  saw  her  as  she  was:  beau 
tiful,  dignified,  and  charming,  a  woman  to  whom  all  eyes 
turned  naturally  and. admiringly,  grave,  sweet,  and  wise 
in  a  world  full  of  pretence  and  ignorance,  selfishness  and 
shallowness. 

She  spoke,  and  her  voice  went  through  him  like  a 
sword,  a  mist  rose  before  his  eyes.  He  tried  to  remem 
ber  that  bitter  resentment  upon  which  his  pride  had  fed 
for  more  than  four  long  years;  he  battled  with  a  mad  de 
sire  to  catch  her  in  his  arms,  and  to  cry  to  her  and  to  all 
the  world,  "After  all,  you  are  still  mine!" 

He  watched  her,  her  beauty  as  fresh  to  him  as  if  he 
had  never  seen  it  before.  Had  those  serious  eyes, 
turned  to  Richie  with  such  sisterly  concern,  and  so  ex 
quisitely  blue  in  the  soft  lamplight,  ever  met  his  with 
love  and  laughter  brightening  them?  Had  the  kindly 
arms  that  went  so  quickly  about  his  mother,  in  her 
trouble,  ever  answered  the  pressure  of  his  own?  She 
could  look  at  him  dispassionately,  entirely  forgetful  of 
herself  in  the  presence  of  death,  but  in  the  very  sick- 


394  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

room  his  eyes  could  not  leave  her  little  kneeling  figure; 
whenever  she  spoke,  he  felt  his  heart  contract  with  a 
spasm  of  pain.  It  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  could  kneel 
before  her,  and  feel  the  light  pressure  of  her  linked  hands 
about  his  neck,  and  have  her  lay  that  soft,  sweet  cheek 
of  hers  against  his,  in  heavenly  token  of  forgiveness,  he 
would  be  ready  to  die  of  joy. 

How  far  Julia  was  from  this  mood  he  was  soon  to 
learn,  and  no  phase  of  their  courtship  eight  years  ago 
had  roused  in  him  such  agonies  of  jealousy  and  longing 
as  beset  him  now,  when  Julia,  quiet  of  pulse  and  level 
eyed,  convinced  him  that  she  could  very  contentedly  ex 
ist  without  him. 

All  these  things  went  confusedly  through  Jim's  mind, 
as  he  sat  at  his  club  window,  staring  blankly  down  at 
the  dreary  summer  twilight  in  the  street  The  club  was 
a  temporary  wooden  building,  roomy  .  .  comfortable 
enough,  but  facing  on  all  four  sides  the  devastation  of 
the  great  earthquake.  Here  and  there  a  small  brick 
building  stood  in  the  ashy  waste,  and  on  the  top  of  Nob 
Hill  the  outline  of  the  big  Fairmont  Hotel  r  jse  boldly 
against  the  gloom.  But,  for  the  most  part,  the  rising 
hills  showed  only  one  ruined  brick  foundation  after  an 
other,  broken  flights  of  stone  steps  leading  down  to 
broken  sidewalks,  twisted,  discoloured  railings  smoth 
ered  in  rank,  dry  grass.  Through  this  wreckage  cable 
cars  moved,  brightly  lighted,  and  loaded  with  passen 
gers,  and  to-night,  in  the  dusk,  a  steady  wind  was  blow 
ing,  raising  clouds  of  fine,  blinding  dust. 

Jim  stared  at  it  all  heavily,  his  mind  strangely  at 
tuned  to  the  dreary  prospect.  He  fe't  puzzled  and  con 
fused;  he  wanted  to  see  Julia  again,  to  have  her  forgive 
and  comfort  him.  When  he  thought  of  the  old  times, 
of  the  devotion  and  tenderness  he  had  taken  so  much 
for  granted,  a  sort  of  sickness  seized  him;  he  could  have 
groaned  aloud.  Only  one  thought  was  intolerable:  that 
she  would  not  forgive  him,  and  let  him  make  up  to  her  for 
the  lost  years,  and  show  her  how  deeply  he  loved  her  still ! 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  395 

He  mused  upon  the  exactions  she  might  make,  the  ad 
vantages  that  would  appeal  to  her.  Not  jewels — she 
must  have  more  jewels  now  than  she  would  ever  wear, 
safely  stored  away  somewhere.  He  remembered  giv 
ing  her  a  certain  chain  of  pearls,  with  a  blinding  vision 
of  the  white  young  throat  they  encircled,  and  the  kiss  he 
had  set  there  with  the  gift.  No,  jewels  were  for  such 
as  Senta,  not  for  grave,  stately  Julia. 

Nor  would  position  tempt  her.  She  was  too  wise  to 
long  for  it;  the  glory  of  a  London  season  meant  nothing 
to  her;  position  was  only  a  word.  She  was  happier  in 
the  Shotwell  Street  house,  clipping  roses  on  a  foggy 
morning;  she  was  happier  far  when  she  scrambled  over 
the  rough  trails  of  the  mountain  with  Richie  than  ever 
London  could  make  her.  Position  and  wealth  might 
have  their  value  for 'Ivy,  but  Julia  cared  as  little  as  a 
bird  for  either  . 

And  now  it  aime  to  him  that  she  was  infinitely  more 
fine,  more  beautiful,  and  more  clever  than  Senta,  and 
that  her  pure  and  fragrant  freshness,  her  simple  direct 
ness,  her  candid  likes  and  dislikes,  would  make  Ivy  seem 
no  more  than  a  jaded  sophist,  a  quoter  of  mere  words,  a 
worshipper  of  empty  form. 

To  have  Julia  in  London!  To  take  her  about,  her 
bright  face  dimpling  in  the  shadow  of  a  flowered  hat, 
or  framed  in  furs,  or  to  see  her  at  the  tea  table,  a  shin 
ing  slipper  showing  under  the  flowing  lines  of  her  gown, 
the  lovely  child  beside  her,  at  once  enhancing  and  ri 
valling  the  mother's  beauty — Jim's  heart  ached  with  the 
pain  and  rapture  of  the  dream. 

He  was  roused  by  Richie,  who  came  limping  into  the 
club  library,  and  <)ver  whose  tired  face  came  a  bright 
smile  at  the  sight  of  Jim. 

"Hello!"  said  Richie,  taking  an  opposite  chair.  His 
expression  grew  solicitous  at  the  sight  of  Jim's  haggard 
face.  "Headache,  old  boy?"  he  asked  sympatheti 
cally. 

Jim  shook  his  head.  The  big  room  was  almost  dark 
now,  and  they  had  it  quite  to  themselves. 


396  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

"Thinking  what  a  rotten  mess  I've  made  of  every 
thing,  Rich,"  Jim  said  desperately. 

Richie  took  out  a  handkerchief  and  wiped  the  palms 
of  his  hands,  but  did  not -answer. 

"She'll  never  forgive  me,  I  know  that,"  Jim  presently 
said.  And  as  Richie  was  again  silent,  he  added:  "Do 
you  think  she  ever  will?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  poor  Richie  said  hesitatingly.  "  She's 
awfully  kind — Julia." 

"She's  an  angel!"  Jim  agreed  fervently.  He  sat 
with  his  head  in  his  hands  for  a  few  moments.  Then  he 
cleared  his  throat  and  said  huskily:  "Look  here,  you 
know,  Rich,  I'm  not  such  an  utter  damn  fool  as  I  seem 
in  this  whole  business.  I  can't  explain,  and,  looking 
back  now,  it  all  seems  different;  but  I  had  a  grievance,  or 

thought  I  had God  knows  it  wasn't  awfully 

pleasant  for  me  to  go  away.  But  I  had  a  reason." 

"  It  wasn't  anything  you  didn't  know  about  before  you 
were  married,  I  suppose?"  asked  Richie,  with  what  Jim 
thought  unearthly  prescience. 

"No,"  Jim  answered,  with  a  startled  look. 

"Nor  anything  you'd  particularly  care  to  have  the 
world  know  or  suspect?"  pursued  Richie.  "Not  any 
thing  Julia  could  change?" 

"No,"  Jim  said  again.  Richard  leaned  back  in  his 
chair. 

"Some  scrap  with  her  people,  or  some  old  friends  she 
wanted  to  hang  on  to,"  he  mused.  Jim  did  not  speak. 
"Well,"  said  Richie,  "there  would  be  plenty  of  people 
glad  to  be  near  Julia  on  any  terms." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,"  Jim  said.  And  after  a  moment 
he  burst  out  again :  "  Richie,  am  I  all  wrong  ?  Is  it  all  on 
my  side?" 

"Lord,  don't  ask  me,"  Richie  said  hastily.  "The 
older  I  grow  the  less  I  think  I  know  about  anything." 

There  was  a  silence.  Richard  clamped  the  arms  of  his 
chair  with  big  bony  fingers  and  frowned  thoughtfully  at 
the  floor. 

"I  wish  to  God  I  did  know  what  to  advise  you,  Jim," 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  397 

he  said  presently.  "I'd  die  for  her — she  knows  that. 
But  she's  rare,  Julia;  it's  like  trying  to  deal  with 
some  delicate  frail  little  lady  out  of  Cranford,  like 
trying  to  guess  what  Emily  Bronte  might  like,  or  Eu 
genie  de  Guerin!  Julia's  got  life  sized  up,  she  likes  it 
— I  don't  know  whether  this  conveys  anything  to  you 
or  not! — but  she  likes  it  as  much  as  if  it  was  part  of  a 
play.  You  don't  matter  to  her  any  more;  I  don't;  she 
sees  things  too  big.  She's  quite  extraordinary;  the 
most  extraordinary  person  I  ever  knew,  I  think.  There's 
a  completeness,  a  finish  about  her.  She's  not  waiting 
for  any  self-defence  from  you,  Jim.  It  won't  do  you  any 
good  to  tell  her  why  you  did  this  or  that.  You  thought 
this  was  justified,  you  thought  that  was — certainly,  she 
isn't  disputing  it.  You  did  what  you  did;  now  she's 
going  to  abide  by  it.  You  never  dreamed  thus  and  so — 
very  well,  the  worse  for  you !  You  want  to  hark  back  to 
something  that's  long  dead  and  gone;  all  right,  only 
abide  by  your  decision.  And  afterward,  when  you 
realize  that  she's  a  thousand  times  finer  than  the  women 
you  compare  her  to,  and  try  to  make  her  like,  then  don't 
come  crying  to  her!" 

A  long  silence,  then  Jim  stood  up. 

"Well,  I've  made  an  utter  mess  of  it,  as  I  began  by 
saying!"  he  said,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "Going  to  dine 
here,  Rich?  Let's  eat  together.  Here" — one  big 
clever  hand  gave  Richard  just  the  help  he  needed — "let 
me  help  you,  old  boy!" 

"  I  thought  I'd  go  home  to  Mill  Valley,"  Richard  said. 
"I  can't  catch  anything  before  the  six-forty,  but  the 
horse  is  in  the  village,  and  my  boy  will  scare  me  up  some 
loup  and  a  salad.  I'd  rather  go.  I  like  to  wake  in  my 
own  place." 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  go  with  you,  Rich,"  Jim  said, 
with  a  gentleness  new  to  him.  "I'm  so  sick  of  every 
thing.  I  can't  think  of  anything  I'd  like  so  well." 

"Sure,  come  along,"  Richard  said,  touched.  "Every 
thing's  pretty  simple,  you  know,  but  I'll  telephone 
Bruce  and  have  him " 


398  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

" Cut  out  the  telephoning,"  Jim  interrupted.  "  Bread 
and  coffee'll  do.  And  a  fire,  huh  ? " 

"Sure,"  Richard  said  again,  "there's  always  a  fire." 

"Great!"  Jim  approved.  "We  can  smoke,  and  talk 
about — 

"About  Ju,"  Richie  supplied,  with  a  gruff  little  laugh, 
as  he  paused. 

"About  Ju,"  Jim  repeated,  with  a  long  sigh. 

Two  days  later  he  went  to  see  her,  to  beg  her  to  be  his 
wife  again.  He  asked  her  to  forget  and  forgive  the  past, 
to  trust  him  once  more,  to  give  him  another  chance  to 
make  her  happy.  He  spoke  of  the  Harley  Street  house, 
of  the  new  friends  she  would  find,  of  Barbara's  nearness 
with  the  boys  that  Julia  loved  so  well.  He  spoke  of 
Anna;  for  Anna's  sake  they  must  be  together;  their  lit 
tle  girl  must  not  be  sacrificed.  Anna  should  have  the 
prettiest  nursery  in  London,  and  in  summer  they  would 
go  down  to  Barbara,  and  the  cousins  should  play  to 
gether. 

Julia  listened  attentively,  her  head  a  little  on  one  side, 
her  eyes  following  the  movements  of  Anna  herself,  who 
was  digging  about  under  the  rose  bushes  in  the  back 
yard.  Julia  and  Jim  sat  on  the  steps  that  ran  down  from 
the  kitchen  porch.  It  was  a  soft,  hazy  afternoon,  with 
filmy  streaks  of  white  crossing  the  pale  blue  sky,  and 
sunshine,  thin  and  golden,  lying  like  a  spell  over  Julia's 
garden. 

"I  was  a  fool,"  said  Jim.  "There — I  can't  say  more 
than  that,  Ju.  And  I've  paid  for  my  folly.  And, 
dearest,  I'm  so  bitterly  sorry!  I  can't  explain  it.  I 
don't  understand  it  myself — I  only  know  that  I'd  give 
ten  years  off  the  end  of  my  life  to  have  the  past  five  to 
live  over  again.  Forgive  me,  Ju.  It's  all  gone  out  of 
my  heart  now,  all  that  old  misery,  and  I  never  could  hurt 
you  again  on  that  score.  It  doesn't  exist,  any  more,  for 
me.  Say  that  you'll  forgive  me,  and  let  me  be  the  happi 
est  and  proudest  man  in  the  world — how  happy  and 
proud — taking  my  wife  and  baby  to  England !" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  399 

The  hint  of  a  frown  wrinkled  Julia's  forehead,  her 
eyes  were  sombre  with  her  own  thoughts. 

"Think  what  it  would  mean  to  Mother,  and  to  Bab, 
and  to  all  of  us,"  Jim  pursued,  as  she  did  not  speak. 
"They've  been  so  worried  about  it — they  care  so  much!" 

"Yes,  I  know!"  Julia  said  quickly,  and  fell  silent 
again. 

"  Is  it  your  own  mother's  need  of  you  ? "  the  man  asked 
after  a  pause. 

"  No."  Julia  gave  a  cautious  glance  at  the  kitchen  door 
behind  her.  "No — Aunt  May  is  wonderful  with  her. 
Muriel's  at  home  a  good  deal,  and  Geraldine  very  near," 
she  said.  "And  more  than  that,  this  separation  between 
you  and  me  worries  Mother  terribly;  she  doesn't  under 
stand  it.  She's  very  different  in  these  days,  Jim,  so 
gentle  and  good  and  brave — I  never  saw  such  a  change! 
No,  she'd  love  to  have  me  go  if  it  was  the  best  thing  to 
do — it's  not  that— 

Her  voice  dropped  on  a  note  of  fatigue.  Her  eyes 
continued  to  dwell  on  the  child  in  the  garden. 

"I've  done  all  I  can  do,"  Jim  said.  "Don't  punish 
me  any  more!" 

Julia  laughed  in  a  worried  fashion,  not  meeting  his  eyes. 

"There  you  are,"  she  said,  faintly  impatient,  "assum 
ing  that  I  am  aggrieved  about  it,  assuming  that  I  am 
sitting  back,  sulking,  and  waiting  for  you  to  humiliate 
yourself!  My  dear  Jim,  I'm  not  doing  anything  of  the 
kind.  I  don't  hold  you  as  wholly  responsible  for  all 
this — how  could  I  ?  I  know  too  well  that  I  myself  am — 
or  was — to  blame.  All  these  years,  when  people  have 
been  blaming  you  and  pitying  me,  I've  longed  to  burst 
out  with  the  truth,  to  tell  them  what  you  were  too  chival 
rous  to  tell!  For  your  sake  and  Anna's  I  couldn't  do  it, 
of  course,  but  you  may  imagine  that  it's  made  me  a 
silent  champion  of  yours,  just  the  same!  But  our 
marriage  was  a  mistake,  Jim,"  she  went  on  slowly  and 
thoughtfully.  "It  was  all  very  well  for  me  to  try  to 
make  myself  over;  I  couldn't  make  you!  I  never  should 
have  tried.  Theoretically,  I  had  made  a  clean  breast  of 


400  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

it,  and  was  forgiven;  but  actually,  the  law  was  too  strong. 
It's  hard  and  strange  that  it  should  be  so,  isn't  it?  I 
don't  understand  it;  I  never  shall.  For  still  it  seems  as 
if  the  punishment  followed,  not  so  much  the  fact,  as  the 
fact's  being  made  known.  If  I  had  robbed  some  one  fif 
teen  years  ago,  or  taken  the  name  of  the  Lord  in  vain,  I 
wonder  if  it  would  have  been  the  same?  As  for  keeping 
holy  the  seventh  day,  and  honouring  your  father  and 
mother,  and  not  coveting  your  neighbour's  goods,  how 
little  they  seem  to  count!  Even  the  most  virtuous  and 
rigid  people  would  forgive  and  forget  fast  enough  in 
those  cases.  It's  all  a  puzzle."  Julia's  voice  and  look, 
which  had  grown  dreamy,  now  brightened  suddenly. 
"And  so  the  best  thing  to  do  about  it,"  she  went  on, 
"seems  to  me  to  make  your  own  conscience  your  moral 
law,  and  feel  that  what  you  have  repented  truly,  is  truly 
forgiven.  So  much  for  me."  She  met  his  eyes.  "But, 
my  dear  Jim,  I  never  could  take  it  for  granted  again  that 
you  felt  so  about  it!" 

"Then  you  do  me  an  injustice,"  said  Jim,  "for  I 
swear " 

"Oh,  don't  swear!"  she  interrupted.  "I  know  you 
believe  that  now,  as  you  did  once  before.  But  I  know 
you  better  than  you  do  yourself,  Jim.  Your  attitude  to 
me  is  always  generous,  but  it's  always  conventional,  too. 
You  never  would  remind  me  of  all  this,  I  know  that  very 
well,  but  always,  in  your  own  heart,  the  reservation 
would  be  there,  the  regret  and  the  pity!  I  know  that  I 
am  a  better  woman  and  a  stronger  woman  for  all  this 
thinking  and  suffering;  you  never  will  believe  that.  Let 
us  suppose  that  we  began  again.  Don't  you  know  that 
the  day  would  come  when  my  opinion  would  clash  with 
that  of  some  other  woman  in  society,  and  you,  knowing 
what  you  know  of  me,  would  feel  that  I  was  not  qualified 
to  judge  in  these  things  as  other  women  are?  Let  us 
suppose  that  I  wanted  to  befriend  a  maid  who  had 
got  herself  into  trouble,  or  to  take  some  wayward  girl 
into  my  house  for  a  trial;  how  patient  would  you  be  with 
me,  under  the  circumstances?" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  401 

"Of  course,  you  can  always  think  up  perfectly  hypo 
thetical  circumstances!"  Jim  said  impatiently. 

" Marriage  js  difficult  enough/'  Julia  pursued.  "But 
marriage  with  a  handicap  isjunpossibleJ  To  feel  that 
there  is  something  you  can't  change,  that  never  will 
change,  and  that  stands  eternally  between  you!  No, 
marriage  isn't  forts,  Jim,  and  we  can  only  make  the 
best  of  it,  having  made  the  original  mistake ! " 

"Don't  ever  say  that  again — it's  not  true!"  Jim 
said,  with  a  sort  of  masterful  anger.  "Now,  listen  a 
moment.  That  isn't  true,  and  you  don't  believe  it. 
I've  told  you  what  I  think  of  myself.  I  was  blind,  I  was 
a  fool.  But  that's  past.  Give  me  another  chance.  I'll 
make  you  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world,  Julia.  I 
love  you.  I'll  be  so  proud  of  you !  You  can  have  a  dozen 
girls  under  your  wing  all  the  time;  you  can  answer  the 
Queen  back,  and  I'll  never  have  even  a  thought  but  what 
you're  the  finest  and  sweetest  woman  in  the  world ! " 

The  preposterous  picture  brought  a  shaky  smile  to 
Julia's  lips  and  a  hint  of  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  suddenly 
rose  from  her  seat  and  went  down  to  the  garden. 

"Our  talking  it  over  does  no  good,  Jim,"  she  said,  as 
he  followed  her,  and  stood  looking  at  her  and  at  Anna. 
"It's  all  too  fresh — it's  been  too  terrible  for  me — getting 
adjusted !  I  stand  firm  here,  I  feel  the  ground  under  my 
feet.  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  feeling  all  wrong,  all 
out  of  key,  helpless  to  straighten  matters!" 

"But  we  were  happy!"  he  said,  a  passionate  regret 
in  his  voice.  "Think  of  our  day  in  Chicago,  Ju,  and  the 
day  we  took  a  hansom  cab  through  Central  Park — and 
were  afraid  the  driver  wasn't  sober!  And  do  you  re 
member  the  blue  hat  that  would  catch  on  the  electric 
light,  and  the  day  the  elevator  stuck?" 

"I  think  of  it  all  so  often,  Jim,"  Julia  answered,  with 
a  smile  as  sad  as  tears  could  have  been,  and  in  the  tender 
voice  she  might  have  used  in  speaking  of  the  dead. 
"Sometimes  I  fit  whole  days  together,  just  thinking  of 
those  old  times.  'Then  what  did  we  do  after  that 
lunch?'  I  think,  or  'Where  were  we  going  that  night 


402  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

that  we  were  in  such  a  hurry?'  and  then  by  degrees  it  all 
comes  back."  Julia  drew  a  rose  toward  her  on  a  tall 
bush,  studied  its  leaves  critically.  "That  was  the 
happiest  time,  wasn't  it,  Jim?"  she  asked,  with  her 
April  smile. 

Jim  felt  as  if  a  weight  of  inevitable  sorrow  were  weigh 
ing  him  to  the  ground.  Julia's  quiet  assurance,  her  re 
gretful  firmness,  seemed  to  be  breaking  his  heart.  She 
was  in  white  to-day,  and  in  the  thin  September  sun 
light,  among  the  blossoming  roses,  she  somehow  sug 
gested  the  calm  placidity  of  a  nun  who  looks  back 
at  her  days  in  the  world  with  a  tender,  smiling  pity. 
The  child  had  left  her  play,  and  stood  close  to  her 
mother's  side,  one  of  Julia's  hands  caught  in  both  her 
own. 

"Anna,"  Jim  said  desperately,  "won't  you  ask 
Mother  to  come  to  London  with  Dad?" 

Anna  regarded  him  gravely.  She  did  not  understand 
the  situation,  but  she  answered,  with  a  child's  curious 
instinct  for  the  obvious  excuse: 

"But  Grandmother  needs  her!" 

"I  never  asked  you  to  give  her  up,  Julie,"  Jim  said, 
as  if  trying  to  remind  her  that  he  had  not  been  so  merci 
less  as  she.  Julia's  eyes  widened  with  a  quick  alarm, 
her  breast  rose,  but  she  answered  composedly: 

"That  I  would  have  fought." 

"And  you  have  always  had  as  much  money " 

Jim  began  again,  trying  to  rally  the  arguments  with 
which  he  had  felt  sure  to  overwhelm  her. 

"I  spent  that  as  much  for  your  sake  as  for  mine," 
Julia  said  soberly.  "She  is  a  Studdiford.  I  wanted  to 
be  fair  to  Anna.  But  I  could  do  without  it  now,  Jim; 
there  are  a  thousand  things " 

"Yes,  I  know!"  he  said  in  quick  shame. 

A  silence  fell,  there  seemed  nothing  else  to  be  said. 
A  great  space  widened  between  them.  Jim  felt  at  the 
mercy  of  lonely  and  desolate  winds;  he  felt  as  if  all 
colour  had  faded  put  of  the  world,  leaving  it  gray  and 
cold.  With  the  sickness  of  utter  defeat  he  dropped  on 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  403 

one  knee  and  kissed  the  wondering  child,  and  then 
turned  to  go. 

"You  won't — change  your  mind,  Ju?"  he  asked 
huskily. 

Julia  was  conscious  of  a  strange  weakening  and 
loosening  of  bonds  throughout  her  entire  system.  Vague 
chills  shook  her,  she  felt  that  tears  were  near,  she  had  a 
hideous  misgiving  as  to  her  power  to  keep  from  fainting. 

"I  will  let  you  know,  Jim,"  she  heard  her  own  voice 
answer,  very  low. 

A  moment  later  she  and  Anna  were  alone  in  the  garden. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  Anna  asked  curiously,  a 
dozen  times.  Julia  stood  staring  at  the  child  blindly. 
One  hand  was  about  Anna's  neck,  the  loose  curls  falling 
soft  and  warm  upon  it,  the  other  Julia  had  pressed  tight 
above  her  heart.  She  stood  still  as  if  listening. 

"What  is  it,  Mother?"  asked  the  little  girl  again. 

"Nothing!"  Julia  said  then,  in  a  sort  of  shallow  whis 
per,  with  a  caught  breath. 

A  second  later  she  kissed  the  child  hastily,  and  went 
quietly  out  of  the  green  gate  which  had  so  lately  closed 
upon  Jim.  She  went  as  unquestioningly  as  an  autom 
aton  moved  by  some  irresistible  power;  not  only  was 
all  doubt  gone  from  her  mind,  but  all  responsibility 
seemed  also  shed. 

The  street  was  almost  deserted,  but  Julia  saw  Jim 
instantly,  a  full  block  away,  and  walking  resolutely,  if 
slowly.  She  drifted  silently  after  him,  not  knowing 
why  she  followed,  nor  what  she  would  say  when  they 
met,  but  conscious  that  she  must  follow  and  that  they 
would  meet. 

Jim  walked  to  Eighteenth  Street,  turned  north,  and 
Julia,  reaching  the  corner,  was  in  time  to  see  him  enter 
ing  the  shabby  old  church  where  they  had  been  mar 
ried  eight  years  ago.  And  instantly  a  blinding  vertigo, 
a  suffocating  rush  of  blood  to  her  heart,  made  her  feel 
weak  and  cold  with  the  sudden  revelation  that  the 
hour  of  change  had  come. 


404  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

She  climbed  the  dreary,  well-remembered  stairs 
slowly,  and  slipped  into  one  of  the  last  pews,  in  the 
shadow  of  a  gallery  pillar. 

Jim  was  kneeling,  far  up  toward  the  altar,  his  head 
in  his  hands.  In  all  the  big  church,  which  was  bleak 
and  bare  in  the  cold  afternoon  light,  there  was  no  one 
else.  The  red  altar  light  flickered  in  its  hanging  glass 
cup;  a  dozen  lighted  candles,  in  a  great  frame  that  held 
sockets  for  five  times  as  many,  guttered  and  flared 
at  the  rail. 

Minutes  slipped  by,  and  still  the  man  knelt  there 
motionless,  and  still  the  woman  sat  watching  him,  her 
eyes  brilliant  and  tender,  her  heart  flooded  with  a  poig 
nant  happiness  that  carried  before  it  all  the  bitterness  of 
the  years.  Julia  felt  born  again.  Like  a  person  long 
deaf,  upon  whose  unsealed  ears  the  roar  of  life  bursts 
suddenly  again,  she  shrank  away  from  the  rush  of  emo 
tion  that  shook  her.  It  was  overpowering — dizzying — 
exhausting. 

When  Jim  presently  passed  her  she  shrank  into  the 
shadow  of  her  pillar,  but  his  face  was  sadder  and  more 
grave  than  Julia  had  ever  seen  it,  and  he  did  not  raise 
his  eyes.  She  listened  until  his  echoing  footsteps  died 
away  on  the  stairs;  then  the  smile  on  her  face  faded,  and 
she  sank  on  her  knees  and  burst  into  tears. 

But  'they  were  not  tears  of  sorrow;  instead,  they 
seemed  to  Julia  infinitely  soothing  and  refreshing.  They 
seemed  to  carry  her  along  with  the  restful  sweep  of  a 
river.  She  cried,  hardly  knowing  that  she  cried,  and 
with  no  effort  to  stop  the  steady  current  of  tears. 

And  when  she  presently  sat  back  and  dried  her  eyes, 
a  delicious  ease  and  relaxation  permeated  her  whole 
body.  Like  a  convalescent,  weak  and  trembling,  she 
drew  great  breaths  of  air,  rejoicing  that  the  devastating 
fever  and  the  burning  illusions  were  gone,  and  only  the 
quiet  weeks  of  getting  well  lay  before  her. 

She  sat  in  the  church  a  long  time,  staring  dreamily 
before  her.  Odd  thoughts  and  memories  drifted 
through  her  mind  now:  she  was  again  a  little  girl  of 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  405 

eight,  slipping  into  the  delicatessen  store  in  O'Farrell 
Street  for  pickles  and  pork  sausage;  now  she  was  a  bride, 
with  Jim  in  New  York,  moving  through  the  dappled 
spring  sunlight  of  Fifth  Avenue,  on  the  top  of  a  rocking 
omnibus.  She  thought  of  the  settlement  house:  winter 
rain  streaming  down  its  windows,  and  she  and  Miss 
Toland  dining  on  chops  and  apple  pie,  each  deep  in  a 
book  as  she  ate;  and  she  remembered  Mark,  poor  Mark, 
who  had  crossed  her  life  only  to  bring  himself  bitter 
unhappiness,  and  to  leave  her  the  sorrow  of  an  inefface 
able  stain! 

Only  thirty,  yet  what  a  long,  long  road  already  lay 
behind  her,  how  much  sorrow,  how  much  joy!  What 
mistakes  and  cross  purposes  had  been  tangled  into  her 
life  and  Jim's,  Mark's  and  Richie's,  Barbara's  and  Sal 
ly's  and  Ted's — into  all  their  lives! 

"Perhaps  that  is  life,"  mused  Julia,  kneeling  down 
to  say  one  more  little  prayer  before  she  went  away. 
"Perhaps  my  ideal  of  a  clean-swept,  austere  little  cot 
tage,  and  a  few  books,  and  a  few  friends,  and  sunrises 
and  sunsets — isn't  life!  It's  all  a  tangle  and  a  struggle, 
ingratitude  and  poverty  and  dispute  all  mixed  in  with 
love  and  joy  and  growth,  and  every  one  of  us  has  to 
take  his  share!  I  have  one  sort  of  trouble  to  bear,  and 
Mother  another,  and  Jim,  I  suppose,  a  third;  we  can't 
choose  them  for  ourselves  any  more  than  we  could 
choose  the  colour  of  our  eyes!  But  loving  each  other — 
loving  each  other,  as  I  love  Anna,  makes  everything 
easy;  it's  the  cure  for  it  all — it  makes  everything  easier 
to  bear!"  And  in  a  whisper,  with  a  new  appreciation 
of  their  meaning,  she  repeated  the  familiar  words, 
"Love  fulfils  the  law!" 

The  next  evening,  just  as  the  autumn  twilight  was 
giving  way  to  dusk,  Julia  opened  the  lower  green  gate 
of  the  Tolands'  garden  in  Sausalito,  and  went  quietly 
up  the  steep  path.  Roses  made  dim  spots  of  colour 
here  and  there;  under  the  trees  it  was  almost  dark, 
though  a  soft  light  still  lingered  on  the  surface  of  the 


406  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

bay  just  below.  From  the  drawing-room  windows 
pale  lamplight  fell  in  clear  bars  across  the  gravel,  but 
the  hall  was  unlighted,  the  door  wide  open. 

Julia  stepped  softly  inside,  her  heart  beating  fast. 
She  had  got  no  farther  than  this  minute,  in  her  hast 
ily  made  plans;  now  she  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do. 
She  knew  that  Barbara  and  the  boys  had  gone  back  to 
Richie  in  Mill  Valley.  Captain  Fox  was  duck  shooting 
in  Novato,  and  Constance  had  returned  to  her  own 
home.  But  Ted  and  her  little  son  should  be  here, 
Janey,  Jim,  and  the  widowed  mother. 

Presently  she  found  Mrs.  Toland  in  the  study,  seated 
alone  before  a  dying  fire.  Julia  kissed  the  shrivelled 
soft  old  cheek,  catching  as  she  did  so  the  faint  odour  of 
perfumed  powder  and  fresh  crepe. 

"Where  are  the  girls,  darling,  that  you're  here  all 
alone?"  she  asked  affectionately. 

"Oh,  Julie  dear!  Isn't  it  nice  to  see  you,"  Mrs.  To 
land  said,  "  and  so  fresh  and  rosy,  like  a  breath  of  fresh 
air!  Where  are  the  girls?  Bab's  with  Richie,  you 
know,  and  she  took  her  boys  and  Ted's  Georgie  with 
her,  and  Connie  had  to  go  home  again.  I  think  Ted  and 
Janey  went  out  for  a  little  walk  before  dinner." 

"And  haven't  you  been  out,  dear?" 

Ready  tears  came  to  poor  Mrs.  Toland's  eyes  at  the 
tender  tone.  She  began  to  beat  lightly  on  Julia's  hand 
with  her  own. 

"I  don't  seem  to  want  to,  dearie,"  she  said  with  dif 
ficulty;  "the  girls  keep  telling  me  to,  but — I  don't  know! 
I  don't  seem  to  want  to.  Papa  and  I  used  to  like  to 
walk  up  and  down  in  the  garden 

Speech  became  too  difficult,  and  she  stopped  abruptly. 

"I  know,"  Julia  said  sorrowfully. 

"It  would  have  been  thirty-five  years  this  Novem 
ber,"  Mrs.  Toland  presently  said.  "We  were  engaged 
in  August  and  married  in  November.  Marriage  is  a 
wonderful  thing,  Julia — it's  a  wonderful  thing!  Papa 
was  very  much  smarter  than  I  am — I  always  knew  that! 
But  after  a  while  people  come  to  love  each  other  partly 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  407 

for  just  that — the  differences  between  them!  And  you 
look  back  so  differently  on  the  mistakes  you  have 
made.  I've  always  been  too  easy  on  the  girls,  and  Ned, 
too,  and  Papa  knew  it,  but  he  never  reproached  me!" 
She  wiped  her  eyes  quietly.  "You  must  have  had  a 
sensible  mother,  Julie,"  she  added,  after  a  moment; 
"you're  such  a  wise  little  thing!" 

"I  don't  believe  she  was  very  wise,"  Julia  said,  smil 
ing,  "any  more  than  I  am!  I  may  not  make  the  mis 
takes  with  Anna  that  Mama  made  with  me,  but  I'll 
make  others!  It's  a  sort  of  miracle  to  see  her  now,  so 
brave  and  good  and  contented,  after  all  the  storms  I 
remember." 

Mrs.  Toland  did  not  speak  for  a  few  moments,  then 
she  said: 

"Julie,  Jim's  like  a  son  of  my  own  to  me.  You'll 
forgive  a  fussy  old  woman,  who  loves  her  children,  if 
she  talks  frankly  to  you?  Don't  throw  away  all  the 
future,  dear.  Not  to-day — not  to-morrow,  perhaps, 
but  some  time,  when  you  can,  forgive  him!  He's 
changed;  he's  not  what  he  used  to  be " 

Tears  were  in  Julia's  eyes  now;  she  slipped  to  her 
knees  beside  Mrs.  Toland's  chair,  and  they  cried  a  little 
together. 

"I  came  to  see  him,"  whispered  Julia.  "Where  is 
he?" 

"He  came  in  about  fifteen  minutes  ago.  He's  pack 
ing.  You  know  his  room " 

Julia  mounted  the  stairs  slowly,  noiselessly.  It  was 
quite  dark  now  throughout  the  airy,  fragrant  big  halls, 
but  a  crack  of  light  came  from  under  Jim's  door. 

She  stood  outside  for  a  few  long  minutes,  thrilling  like 
a  bride  with  the  realization  that  she  had  the  right  to 
enter  here;  where  Jim  was,  was  her  sanctuary  against 
the  world  and  its  storms. 

She  knocked,  and  Jim  shouted  "Come  in!"  Julia 
opened  the  door  and  faced  him  across  a  room  fulljof  the 
disorder  of  packing.  Jim  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  his 


408  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

hair  rumpled  and  wild.  She  slipped  inside  the  door,  and 
shut  it  behind  her,  a  most  appealing  figure  in  her  black 
gown,  with  her  uncovered  bright  hair  loosened  and 
softly  framing  her  April  face. 

"Jim,"  she  said,  her  heart  choking  her,  "will  you  take 
Anna  and  me  with  you?  I  love  you " 

There  was  time  for  no  more.  They  were  in  each 
other's  arms,  laughing,  crying,  murmuring  now  and  then 
an  incoherent  word.  Julia  clung  to  her  husband  like  a 
storm-driven  bird;  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  heart  would 
burst  in  its  ecstasy  of  content;  if  the  big  arms  about  her 
had  crushed  breath  from  her  body  she  would  have  died 
uncaring. 

Jim  kissed  her  wet  cheeks,  her  tumbled  hair,  her  red 
lips  that  so  willingly  met  his  own.  And  when  at  last 
the  tears  were  dry,  and  they  could  speak  and  could  look 
at  each  other,  there  was  no  need  for  words.  Jim  sat  on 
the  couch,  and  Julia  sat  on  his  knee,  with  one  arm  laid 
loosely  about  his  neck  in  a  fashion  they  had  loved  years 
ago,  and  what  they  said  depended  chiefly  upon  their 
eyes  and  the  tones  of  their  voice. 

"Oh,  Jim — Jim!"  Julia  rested  her  cheek  against  his. 
"I  have  needed  you  so!" 

Jim  tightened  an  arm  about  her. 

"I  adore  you,"  he  said  simply,  unashamed  of  his  wet 
eyes.  "Do  you  love  me?" 

To  this  Julia  made  no  answer  but  a  long  sigh  of  utter 
content. 

"Do  you?"  repeated  Jim,  after  an  interval. 

"Does  this  look  as  if  I  did?"  Julia  murmured,  not 
moving. 

Silence  again,  and  then  Jim  said,  with  a  great  sigh : 

"Oh,  Petty,  what  a  long,  long  time!" 

"Thank  God  it's  over!"  said  Julia  softly. 

"  What  made  you  do  it,  dear  ? "  Jim  asked  presently,  in 
the  course  of  a  long  rambling  talk.  At  that  Julia  did 
straighten  up,  so  that  her  eyes  might  meet  his. 

"Just  seeing  you — pray  about  it,  Jim,"  she  said,  her 
eyes  filling  again,  although  her  lips  were  smiling.  "I 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  409 

thought  that,  this  time,  we  would  both  pray,  and  that — 
even  if  there  are  troubles,  Jim — we'd  remember  that 
hour  in  St.  Charles's,  and  think  how  we  longed  for  each 
other!" 

And  resting  her  cheek  against  his,  Julia  began  to  cry 
with  joy,  and  Jim  clung  to  her,  his  own  eyes  brimming, 
and  they  were  very  happy. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SEPTEMBER  daylight,  watery  and  uncertain,  and  very 
different  from  the  golden  purity  of  California's  Septem 
ber  sunshine,  fell  in  pale  oblongs  upon  the  polished  floor 
of  a  certain  London  drawing-room,  and  battled  with  the 
dancing  radiance  of  a  coal  fire  that  sent  cheering  gleams 
and  flashes  of  gold  into  the  duskiest  corners  of  the  room. 

It  was  a  beautiful  room,  and  a  part  of  a  beautiful 
house,  for  the  American  doctor  and  his  wife,  deciding  to 
make  the  English  capital  their  home,  had  searched  and 
waited  patiently  until  in  Camden  Hill  Road  they  had 
discovered  a  house  possessed  of  just  the  irresistible  com 
bination  of  bigness  and  coziness,  beauty  and  simplicity, 
for  which  they  had  hoped.  In  the  soft  tones  of  the 
rugs,  the  plain  and  comfortable  chairs,  the  warm  glow 
of  a  lamp  shade,  or  the  gleam  of  a  leather-bound  book, 
there  was  at  once  a  suggestion  of  discrimination  and  of 
informal  ease.  And  informal  yet  strangely  exhilarating 
the  friends  of  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Studdiford  found  it. 
Very  famous  folk  liked  to  sit  in  these  deep  chairs,  and 
talk  on  and  on  beside  this  friendly  fire,  while  London 
slept,  and  the  big  clock  in  the  hall  turned  night  into 
morning.  No  hosts  in  London  were  more  popular  than  the 
big,  genial  doctor,  and  his  clever,  silent,  and  most  beauti 
ful  wife.  Mrs.  Studdiford  was  an  essentially  genuine 
person;  the  flowers  in  her  drawing-room,  like  the  fruit 
on  her  table,  were  sure  to  be  sensibly  in  season;  her 
clothes  and  her  children's  clothes  were  extraordinarily 
simple,  and  her  new  English  friends,  simple  and  do 
mestic  as  they  were,  whatever  their  rank,  found  her  to 
be  one  of  themselves  in  these  things,  and  took  her  to 
their  hearts. 

Julia  herself  was  sitting  before  the  fire  now,  one  slip- 

410 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  411 

pered  foot  to  the  blaze.  Four  years  in  London  life  had 
left  her  as  lovely  as  ever;  perhaps  there  was  even  an 
increase  of  beauty  in  the  lines  of  her  closed  lips,  a 
certain  accentuation  of  the  old  spiritual  sweetness  in  her 
look.  Her  bright  hair  was  still  wound  about  her  head  in 
loose  braids,  and  her  severely  simple  gown  of  Quaker 
gray  was  relieved  at  the  wrists  and  throat  by  transparent 
frills  of  white.  In  her  arms  lay  a  baby  less  than  a  year 
old,  a  splendid  boy,  whose  eyes,  through  half-closed  lids, 
were  lazily  studying  the  fire.  His  little  smocked  white 
frock  showed  sturdy  bare  knees,  and  the  fine  web  of  his 
yellow  hair  blew  like  a  gold  mist  against  his  mother's 
breast. 

The  room's  only  other  occupant,  a  tall,  handsome  wo 
man,  in  a  tan  cloth  suit,  with  rich  furs,  presently  turned 
from  the  deep  curtained  arch  of  a  window.  This  was 
Barbara  Fox,  Lady  Curriel  now,  still  thin,  and  still  with 
a  hint  of  sharpness  and  fatigue  in  her  browned  face,  yet 
with  rare  content  and  satisfaction  written  there,  too. 
Barbara's  life  was  full,  and  every  hour  brought  its 
demand  on  her  time,  but  she  was  a  very  happy  woman, 
devoted  to  her  husband  and  her  three  small  sons,  and 
idolizing  her  baby  daughter.  Her  winters  were  devoted 
to  the  social  and  political  interests  that  played  so  large 
a  part  in  her  husband's  life  and  her  own,  but  Julia  knew 
that  she  was  far  more  happy  in  the  summers,  when  her 
brood  ran  wild  over  the  old  manor  house  at  High 
Darmley,  and  every  cottager  stopped  to  salute  the 
donkey  cart  and  the  shouting  heirs  of  "the  big  family." 

"Not  a  sign  of  them!"  said  Barbara  now,  coming  from 
the  window  to  the  fire,  and  loosening  her  furs  as  she  sat 
down  opposite  Julia.  "Is  he  asleep?"  she  added  in  a 
cautious  undertone. 

"Not  he!"  answered  Julia,  with  a  kiss  for  her  son. 
"He's  just  lying  here  and  finking  'bout  fings!  I  don't 
know  where  the  others  can  be,"  she  went  on,  in  evident 
reference  to  Barbara's  vigil  at  the  window.  "Jim  said 
lunch,  and  it's  nearly  one  o'clock  now!  Take  your 
things  off,  Babbie,  and  lunch  with  us?" 


412  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

•*•    ~v 

"  Positively  I  mustn't,  dear.  I  must  be  at  home.  I've 
to  see  the  paperers  at  two  o'clock,  and  to-morrow  morn 
ing  early,  you  know,  we  go  back  to  the  kiddies  at  the 
seaside." 

"And  they're  all  well?" 

"Oh,  splendid.  Even  Mary's  out  of  doors  all  day, 
and  digging  in  the  sand!  We  think  Jim's  right  about 
Geordie's  throat,  by  the  way;  it  ought  to  be  done,  I 
suppose,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  trouble  him  at  all,  and  it 
can  wait!  Julie  dear,  why  don't  you  and  the  boy  and 
Anna  come  down,  if  only  for  four  or  five  days?  Bring 
nurse,  and  some  old  cottons,  and  a  parasol,  and  we'll 
have  a  lovely,  comfy  time!" 

"But  we're  just  home!"  Julia  protested  laughingly. 
"I've  hardly  got  straightened  out  yet!  However,  I'll 
speak  to  Jim,"  she  went  on.  "This  gentleman  thinks 
he  would  like  it,  and  Anna  is  frantic  to  see  the  boys." 

"And  we  must  talk!"  Barbara  added  coaxingly.  "Is 
California  lovely?" 

"Oh "  Julia  raised  her  brows,  with  her  grave 

smile.  "Home  is  home,  Bab." 

*|And  Mother  looks  well?" 

"Your  mother  looks  very  well.  But  when  she  and 
Janey  come  on  in  January  you'll  see  for  yourself. 
Janey's  so  pretty;  I  wish  she'd  marry,  but  she  never 
sees  any  one  but  Rich!  Rich  is  simply  adorable;  he  had 
Con  and  her  husband  and  little  girl  with  him  this 
summer.  .  Con's  getting  very  fat — she's  great  fun! 
And  Ted's  very  much  improved,  Bab,  very  much  more 
gentle  and  sweet.  She  told  me  about  Bob  Carleton's 
death,  poor  fellow!  She  went  to  see  him  and  took 
George,  and  do  you  know,  I  don't  think  Ted  will  marry 
again,  although  she's  handsomer  than  ever!" 

"And  Sally's  the  perfect  celebrity's  wife?"  Barbara 
asked,  with  a  smile. 

"Sally?  But  I  wrote  you  that,"  Julia  laughed. 
"Yes,  Keith  was  giving  a  concert  in  Philadelphia  when 
we  went  through  at  Easter.  So  Jim  and  I  made  a 
special  trip  down  to  hear  it,  and,  my  dear!  The  hall 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  413 

was  packed,  the  women  went  simply  crazy  over  him,  and 
he's  really  quite  poetical  looking,  long  hair  and  all  that. 
And  Sally—  I  saw  her  at  the  hotel  the  next  morning, 
and  such  a  manner!  Protecting  the  privacy  of  the 
genius,  don't  you  know,  and  seeing  reporters,  and 
answering  requests  for  autographs,  and  declining  in 
vitations,  here,  there,  and  everywhere!  I  think  she  has 
more  fun  than  Keith  does!  He's  quite  helpless  without 
her;  won't  see  a  manager  or  answer  a  note,  or  even  order 
a  luncheon!  'Sally,'  he  says,  handing  her  a  card,  'what 
do  I  like?  Tell  them  not  to  ask  me!'  He  worships  her, 
and,  of  course,  she  worships  him;  she  even  said  to  me 
that  it  was  lucky  there  were  no  children — Keith  hated 
children!" 

"Funny  life!"  Barbara  mused,  half  laughing.  "And 
your  people  are  well,  Ju?" 

"Splendidly,"  Julia  smiled.  "Mama  looks  just  the 
same;  she  was  simply  wild  about  our  Georgie — saw  him 
nearly  every  day,  for  if  I  couldn't  go  I  sent  nurse  with 
him.  My  cousin  Marguerite  is  dead,  you  know,  and  her 
husband  is  really  a  very  clever  fellow,  a  tailor,  making 
lots  of  money.  He  and  the  three  children  have  come  to 
live  with  Aunt  May;  Regina  manages  the  whole  crowd; 
it's  really  the  happiest  sort  of  a  home!  Anna  had 
beautiful  times  there;  she  remembered  it  all,  and  Aunt 
May  and  Mama  nearly  spoiled  her!" 

"You  couldn't  spoil  her,"  Barbara  said  affectionately. 
"She  is  really  the  dearest  and  most  precious!  Are  you 
going  to  let  La  Franz  paint  her?" 

"No."  Julia's  motherly  pride  showed  only  in  a  sudden 
brightness  in  her  blue  eyes.  "And  I  hope  no  one  will 
tell  her  that  he  asked !  Even  at  ten,  Bab,  they  are  quite 
sufficiently  aware  of  admiration.  She  had  on  a  sort  of 
greeny-yallery  velvet  gown  the  day  we  met  him,  and 
really  she  was  quite  toothsome,  if  you  ask  an  unpreju 
diced  observer.  But  Jim  and  I  were  wondering  if  it's 
wise  to  make  her  quite  so  picturesque!" 

"You  can't  help  it,"  Barbara  said.  "She's  just  as 
lovely  in  a  Holland  pinny,  or  a  nightie,  or  a  bathing 


414  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

suit!  I  declare  she  was  too  lovely  on  the  sands  last 
year,  with  her  straw-coloured  hair,  and  a  straw-coloured 
hat,  and  her  pink  cheeks  matching  a  pink  apron!  She's 
going  to  be  prettier  than  you  are,  Ju!" 

"Well,  at  that  she  won't  set  the  Thames  afire!"  Julia 
smiled. 

"  I  don't  know !  You  ought  to  be  an  absolutely  happy 
woman,  Julie." 

Julia  settled  the  baby's  head  more  comfortably 
against  her  arm,  and  raised  earnest  eyes. 

"Is  any  one,  Bab?     Are  you?" 

"Well,  yes,  I  think  I  am!"  Lady  Curriel  said 
thoughtfully.  "Of  course  those  months  before  Francis's 
uncle  died  were  awfully  hard  on  us  all,  and  then  before 
Mary  came  I  was  wretched;  but  now — there's  really 
nothing,  except  that  we  do  not  live  within  our  income 
when  we're  in  the  town  house,  and  that  frets  Francis  a 
good  deal.  Of  course  I  try  to  economize  in  summer, 
and  we  catch  up,  but  it's  an  ever-present  worry!  And 
then  our  Geordie's  throat,  you  know,  and  being  so  far 
from  Mother  and  Rich  and  the  girls,  of  course!  But 
those  things  really  don't  count,  Ju.  And  in  the  main 
I'm  absolutely  happy  and  satisfied.  I'm  pleased  with 
the  way  my  life  has  gone!" 

"Pleased  is  mild,"  Julia  agreed.  "I'd  be  an  utter 
ingrate  to  be  anything  but  pleased,  looking  back.  Jim 
is  exceptional,  of  course,  and  Anna  and  this  young 
person  seem  to  me  pretty  nice  in  their  little  ways !  And 
when  we  went  home  this  year  it  was  really  pleasant  and 
touching,  I  thought;  all  San  Francisco  was  gracious;  we 
could  have  had  five  times  as  long  a  visit  and  not  worn 
our  welcome  out!" 

"So  much  for  having  been  presented,"  laughed  Bar 
bara. 

"Well,  I  suppose  so.  Mama  was  wild  with  interest 
about  it;  she  has  my  photograph,  in  the  gown  I  wore  to 
the  drawing-room,  framed  on  the  wall.  But  Aunt 
May  was  dubious,  isn't  at  all  sure  that  she  admires  the 
British  royal  family.  She's  a  most  delightful  person!" 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  415 

Julia  laughed  out  gayly.  "If  ever  I  happen  to  speak  of 
the  Duchess  of  This  or  Lady  That,  Mama's  eyes  fairly 
dance,  but  Aunt  May  isn't  going  to  be  hoodwinked  by 
any  title.  'Ha!'  she  says.  'Do  you  think  they're  one 
bit  better  in  the  sight  of  God  than  I  am?'  And  I  like 
nothing  better  than  to  regale  her  on  their  silliness,  tell 
her  how  one  has  forty  wigs,  and  another  is  so  afraid  of 
losing  her  diamonds  she  has  a  man  sit  and  watch  them 
every  night.  Long  afterward  I  hear  her  exclaiming  to 
herself,  'Wigs,  indeed!'  or  'Diamonds!  Well,  did  you 
ever!'" 

"When  you  come  to  think  of  it,  Ju,  isn't  it  odd  to 
think  of  your  own  people  doing  their  own  work,  'way 
out  there  on  the  very  edge  of  the  western  world,  and 
you  here,  in  a  fairway  to  become  a  London  f'yvourite!" 

"Doing  their  own  work,  indeed!"  laughed  Julia. 
"My  good  lady,  you  forget  Carrie.  Carrie  comes  in 
every  night  to  do  the  dishes,  and  because  she's  coloured, 
my  Aunt  May  has  always  felt  that  she  stole  sugar  and 
tea.  However,  we  all  laughed  at  Aunt  May  this  year, 
when  it  came  to  suspecting  Carrie  of  stealing  Regina's 
face  powder!  No,  but  you're  quite  right,  Bab,"  she 
went  on  more  seriously.  "It's  all  very  strange  and 
dramatic.  Saturday,  when  the  Duchess  came  in  to  wel 
come  us,  and  flowers  came  from  all  sides,  and  the 
Penniscots  came  to  carry  us  off  to  dinner,  I  really  felt, 
'Lawk  a  mussy  on  me,  this  can't  be  I!" 

"Well,  then,  where  is  the  pill  in  the  jelly?"  asked 
Barbara  solicitously. 

Julia  had  flung  back  her  head  and  was  listening  in 
tently.  Footsteps  and  voices  were  unmistakably  com 
ing  up  the  hall  stairs. 

"No  pills — all  jelly!"  she  had  time  to  say  smilingly, 
before  the  door  opened  and  three  persons  came  into  the 
room:  Doctor  Studdiford,  handsomer  and  more  boy 
ishly  radiant  than  ever ;  Miss  Toland,  quite  gray,  but  erect 
and  vigorous  still;  and  little  Anna,  a  splendid,  glowing 
ten-year-old,  in  the  blue  serge  sailor  suit  and  round  straw 
hat  made  popular  by  the  little  English  princess. 


416  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

Babel  followed.  Every  one  must  kiss  Barbara; 
little  George  must  come  in  for  his  full  share  of  attention. 
Presently  the  beaming  Ellie  was  summoned,  and  the 
children  went  away  with  her;  Barbara  carried  off  her 
aunt  for  a  makeshift  luncheon  in  the  dismantled  Curriel 
mansion,  and  the  Studdifords  were  left  alone. 

"We  picked  Aunt  Sanna  up  at  the  corner,"  said  Jim, 
one  arm  about  his  wife  as  they  stood  in  the  window  look 
ing  down  at  the  departing  visitors,  "and  of  course  Anna 
must  drag  her  along  with  us  to  see  the  baby  lion!  I 
stopped  at  Lord  Essels's,  by  the  way,  and  it's  a  perfect  knit 
— can't  tell  where  one  bone  stops  and  the  other  begins!" 

"Oh,  Jimmy,  you  old  miracle  worker!  Aren't  you 
pleased?" 

"Well,  rath-^r/  And  young  Lady  Essels  wants  to 
call  on  you,  Ju;  says  you  were  the  loveliest  thing  at 
the  New  Year's  ball  last  year!  Remember  when  we 
rushed  home  to  feed  Georgie,  and  rushed  back  again?" 

"Oh,  perfectly.  I  hope  she  will  come;  she  looked 
sweet.  And  every  one's  coming  to  our  Tuesday  dinner, 
Jim,  except  Ivy;  notes  from  them  all.  Ivy  says  Lady 
Violet  is  so  ill  that  she  can't  promise,  but  Phyllis  is  com 
ing  with  the  new  husband.  She  wrote  such  a  cunning 
note!  And — I'll  see  Ivy  this  afternoon,  and  I  think  I'll 
tell  her  that  I'm  going  to  leave  her  place  open;  if  she 
can't  come,  why  we'll  just  have  to  have  a  man  over, 
that's  all!  It  won't  be  awfully  formal  anyway,  Jimmy, 
at  this  time  of  the  year!" 

"Whatever  you  say,  old  lady!"  Jim  was  thinking  of 
something  else.  "How  do  you  feel  about  leaving  the 
kids  and  going  off  for  a  little  run  with  the  Parkes  to 
morrow  night  ? "  he  asked.  "  He's  found  some  new  place 
in  which  he  wants  us  to  dine  and  sleep.  Home  the 
next  morning." 

"Well,  I  could  do  that,"  Julia  said  thoughtfully. 

"You're  terribly  decent  about  leaving  'em,"  said 
Jim,  who  knew  how  Julia  hated  to  be  away  from  Anna 
and  George  at  night,  "but,  really,  I  think  this'll  be  fun 
— cards,  you  know,  and  a  good  dinner." 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  417 

"That's  to-morrow?" 

"To-morrow."  Jim  hesitated.  "I  know  you're  not 
crazy  about  them,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  dislike  them,"  Julia  said^  brightly.  "She's 
really  lots  of  fun,  but  of  course  he's  the  Honourable 
and  he's  a  little  spoiled.  But  I'm  really  glad  to  go. 
Was  Anna  nice  this  morning?" 

"Oh,  she  was  lovely — held  her  little  head  up  and 
trotted  along,  asking  intelligent  questions,  don't  you 
know — not  like  a  chattering  kid.  She  pitched  right 
into  me  on  the  governess  question;  she's  all  for  Miss 
Percival's  school,  won't  hear  of  a  governess  for  a 
minute!" 

"And  the  stern  parent  compromised  on  Miss  Per- 
cival?"  smiled  Julia. 

"Well,  I  only  promised  for  a  year,"  Jirn  said,  shame 
faced.  "And  you  were  against  the  governess  proposi 
tion,  too,"  he  added  accusingly. 

"Absolutely,"  she  assured  him  soothingly.  "I  love 
to  have  Anna  with  me  in  the  afternoons,  and  when 
Bab's  in  town  we  can  send  her  over  there — she's  no 
trouble!"  Julia  turned  her  face  up  for  a  kiss.  "Run 
and  wash  your  hands,  Doctor  dear!"  said  she. 

"Yes — and  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  Jim  asked 
jealously. 

"I'm  going  to  wait  for  you  right  here,  and  we'll  go 
down  together,"  she  said  pacifically.  Jim  took  another 
kiss. 

"Happy? "he  asked. 

Just  as  he  had  asked  her  a  thousand  times  in  the  past 
four  years.  And  always  she  had  answered  him,  as  she 
did  now: 

"Happiest  woman  in  the  world,  Jim!" 

The  happiest  woman  in  the  world!  Julia,  left  alone, 
still  stood  dreaming  in  the  curtained  window,  her  eyes 
idly  following  the  quiet  life  of  the  sunny  street  below. 
A  hansom  clattered  by,  an  open  carriage  in  which  an 
old,  old  couple  were  taking  an  airing.  Half  a  square 


418  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

away  she  could  see  the  Park,  with  gray-clad  nurses 
chatting  over  their  racing  charges  or  the  tops  of  per 
ambulators. 

But  Julia's  thoughts  were  not  with  these.  A  little 
frown  shaded  her  eyes,  and  her  mouth  was  curved  by  a 
smile  more  sad  than  sweet.  The  happiest  woman  in  the 
world  1  Yet,  as  she  stood  there,  she  felt  an  utter  disen 
chantment  with  life  seize  upon  her;  she  felt  an  over 
whelming  weariness  in  the  battle  that  was  not  yet  over. 
For  Julia  knew  now  that  life  to  her  must  be  a  battle; 
whatever  the  years  to  come  might  hold  for  her,  they 
could  not  hold  more  than  an  occasional  heavenly  inter 
val  of  peace.  Peace  for  Jim,  peace  for  her  mother, 
peace  for  her  children  and  for  all  those  whom  she  loved; 
but  for  herself  there  must  be  times  of  an  increasing  bur 
den,  an  increasing  weariness,  and  the  gnawing  of  an  un 
dying  fight  with  utter  discouragement.  Her  secret  must 
never  be  anything  but  a  secret ;  and  yet,  to  Julia,  it  some 
times  seemed  that  her  only  happiness  in  life  would  be 
to  shout  it  to  the  whole  world. 

Not  always,  for  there  were,  of  course,  serene  long 
stretches  of  happiness,  confident  times  in  which  she  was 
really  what  she  seemed  to  be,  only  beautiful,  young, 
exceptionally  fortunate  and  beloved.  But  it  was  into 
these  very  placid  intervals  that  the  word  or  look  would 
enter,  to  bring  her  house  of  cards  crashing  about  her 
head  once  more. 

Sometimes,  not  often,  it  was  a  mere  casual  acquaint 
ance  whose  chance  remark  set  the  old,  old  wound  to 
throbbing;  or  sometimes  it  was  Barbara's  or  Miss  To- 
land's  praise:  "You're  so  sweet  and  fine,  Ju — if  only 
we'd  all  done  with  our  opportunities  as  you  have!" 
Oftener  it  was  Jim's  voice  that  consciously  or  uncon 
sciously  on  his  part  stabbed  Julia  to  the  very  soul.  For 
him,  the  sting  was  gone,  because,  at  the  first  prick,  Julia 
was  there  to  take  it  and  bear  it.  No  need  to  conceal 
from  her  now  the  bitterness  of  his  moods;  she  would 
meet  him  halfway.  He  was  worrying  about  that  old 
affair?  Ah,  he  mustn't  do  that — here  were  Julia's  arms 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE  419 

about  him,  her  lovely  face  close  to  his,  her  sweet  and 
earnest  sympathy  ready  to  probe  bravely  into  his  dark 
est  thought,  and  find  him  some  balm.  Still  gowned 
from  a  ball,  perhaps,  jewelled,  perfumed,  dragging  her 
satin  train  after  her,  she  would  come  straight  into  his 
arms,  with:  "Something's  worrying  you,  dearest,  tell 
me  what  it  is  ?  I  love  you  so — 

No  resentment  on  Jim's  part  could  live  for  a  moment 
in  this  atmosphere.  He  only  wanted  to  tell  her  about 
it,  to  be  soothed  like  a  small  boy,  to  catch  his  beautiful 
wife  in  his  arms,  and  win  from  her  lips  again  and  again 
the  assurance  that  she  loved  him  and  him  alone.  What 
these  scenes  cost  Julia's  own  fine  sense  of  delicacy  and 
dignity,  only  Julia  knew.  They  left  her  with  a  vague 
feeling  of  shame,  a  consciousness  of  compromise.  For 
a  day  or  two  after  such  an  episode  a  new  hesitancy 
would  mark  her  manner,  a  certain  lack  of  confidence 
lend  pathos  to  the  sweetness  of  her  voice. 

But  no  outside  influence  ever  could  bring  home  to 
her  the  realization  of  the  shadow  on  her  life  as  forcibly 
as  did  her  own  inner  musings,  the  testimony  of  her  own 
soul.  If  she  had  but  been  innocent,  how  easy  to  bear 
Jim's  scorn,  or  the  scorn  of  the  whole  world !  It  was  the 
bitter  knowledge  that  she  had  taken  her  life  in  her  own 
hands  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  and  wrecked  it  more 
surely  than  if  she  had  torn  out  her  own  eyes,  that  made 
her  heart  sick  within  her  now.  She,  who  loved  dignity, 
who  loved  purity,  who  loved  strength,  must  carry  to 
her  grave  the  knowledge  of  her  own  detestable  weak 
ness!  She  must  instruct  her  daughter,  guarding  the 
blue  eyes  and  the  active  mind  from  even  the  knowledge 
of  life's  ugly  side,  she  must  hold  the  highest  standard 
of  purity  before  her  son,  knowing,  as  she  knew,  that 
far  back  at  her  life's  beginning,  were  those  few  hideous 
weeks  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  could  utterly  undo 
the  work  of  twenty  strong  and  steadfast  years!  She 
must  be  silent  when  she  longed  to  cry  aloud,  she  must 
train  herself  to  cry  aloud  at  the  thing  that  she  had  been. 


420  THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

And  she  must  silently  endure  the  terrible  fact  that 
her  husband  knew,  and  that  he  would  never  forget. 
Over  and  over  again  her  spirit  shrank  at  some  new  evi 
dence  of  the  fact  that,  with  all  his  love  for  her,  his  ad 
miration,  his  loyalty,  there  was  a  reservation  in  her 
husband's  heart,  a  conviction — of  which  he  was  perhaps 
not  conscious  himself — that  Julia  was  not  quite  as 
other  women.  Her  criticism  of  others  must  be  more 
gentle,  her  opinion  less  confidently  offered.  Others 
might  find  in  her  exceptional  charms,  rare  strength,  and 
rare  wisdom — not  Jim.  For  him  she  was  always  the 
exquisite  penitent,  who  had  so  royally  earned  a  per 
petually  renewed  forgiveness,  the  little  crippled  play 
fellow  whom  it  was  his  delight  to  carry  in  his  arms.  His 
judgment  for  what  concerned  his  children  was  the  wiser, 
and  for  her,  too,  when  she  longed  to  throw  herself  into 
this  work  of  reform  or  that — to  expose  herself,  in  other 
words,  to  the  very  element  from  which  a  kind  Provi 
dence  had  seen  fit  to  remove  her.  Obviously,  on  certain 
subjects  there  must  not  be  two  opinions,  in  any  house, 
and,  whatever  the  usual  custom,  obviously  he  was  the 
person  to  decide  in  his  own. 

"  Rich  says  you  were  not  a  saint  yourself  when  you 
were  in  college,  Jim!"  she  had  burst  out  once,  long 
years  ago,  before  their  separation.  But  only  once. 
After  all,  the  laws  were  not  of  Jim's  making;  whatever 
he  had  done,  he  was  a  respecter  of  convention,  a  keeper 
of  the  law  of  man.  Julia  had  broken  God's  law,  had 
repented,  and  had  been  forgiven.  But  she  had  also 
broken  the  law  of  man,  for  which  no  woman  ever  is  for 
given.  And  though  this  exquisite  and  finished  woman, 
with  her  well-stored  brain  and  ripened  mind,  her  posi 
tion  and  her  charm,  was  not  the  little  Julia  Page  of  the 
old  O'Farrell  Street  days,  she  must  pay  the  price  of  that 
other  Julia's  childish  pride  and  ignorance  still. 

She  must  go  on,  listening,  with  her  wise,  wistful  smile, 
to  the  chatter  of  other  women,  wincing  at  a  thousand 
little  pricks  that  even  her  husband  could  not  see,  win 
ning  him  from  his  ugly  moods  with  that  mixture  of 


THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE 

the  child  and  the  woman  that  his  love  never  could  re 
sist. 

His  love!  After  all  he  did  love  her  and  his  children, 
and  she  loved  the  three  with  every  fibre  of  heart  and 
soul.  Julia  ended  her  reverie,  as  she  always  ended  her 
reveries,  with  a  new  glow  of  hope  in  her  heart  and  a 
half  smile  on  her  lips.  Their  love  would  save  them  all 
—love  fulfilled  the  law. 

"Julia!"  said  Jim,  at  the  door,  "where  are  you?" 

She  turned  in  her  window  recess. 

"Not  escaped,  O  Sultan!" 

"Well" — he  had  his  arm  about  her,  his  air  was  that 
of  a  humoured  child — "I  didn't  suppose  you  had!  But 
I  hate  you  to  go  down  without  me!" 

"Well,  the  poor  abused  boy!"  Julia  laughed.  "Come, 
we'll  go  down  together!" 

"What  were  you  thinking  of,  standing  there  all  that 
time?"  he  asked. 

"You  principally,  Doctor  Studdiford!"  Julia  gave 
him  a  quick  sidewise  glance. 

"Glad  I  came  out  to  the  Mission  to  fix  the  Daley 
kid's  arm?"  Jim  asked. 

"Glad!"  said  Julia  softly,  with  a  great  sigh  that  be 
lied  her  smile.  They  took  each  other's  hands,  like 
children,  and  went  down  the  broad  stairway  together. 


THE    END 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY,  N.  Y. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
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Tel.  No.  642-3405 

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Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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